


The Last of Them

by SicTruths



Series: Forever Last [1]
Category: Supernatural, The Walking Dead - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, I'm Bad At Tagging, Mark of Cain, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Wendigo, badass!Daryl, badass!Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 00:52:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3958309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SicTruths/pseuds/SicTruths
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last thing any of them were expecting to find while on the hunt for a little girl was exactly what they did find. Courtesy of a single man, they were all pulled into more that they had ever thought possible and exposed to more than just the rotten corpses that walked the earth now. Who knew there was worse to fear out there than walkers?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first piece of work on this website. I originally posted this story on fanfiction.net, and decided to put it on here cause why not? This centers around Dean and Daryl and take place during the second season of Walking Dead and the ninth season of Supernatural.

There was no way he was going to give up on her. She was just a little girl who got lost in the woods. The others were slowly giving up on the chances of finding her, but there was no way in hell he was going to. He knew exactly how scary it was to get lost in the woods, and he wasn't just about to leave the little girl out there. Sure, she may have been out there for a few days already, but that wasn't going to stop him. He was determined to find that damn girl and return her to her waiting mother.  
That was the same determination that was responsible for why Daryl now found himself in the middle of the woods with the light of day slowly fading.  
Daryl huffed and tightened his grip on his crossbow that he had resting in his hands. It was late and the light was fading quicker than he had anticipated. Any smart person would know not to get caught out in the open after dark, giving the lack of visibility and the walkers were not a very good combination at all. Although, as strange as it was, Daryl hadn't encountered any walkers all day, but he knew better than to let his guard down.  
Daryl had been out in the woods all day. His legs had began to hurt and he was sweaty in all the wrong places, courtesy of the hot Georgia weather. Grime had coated any exposed skin, and usually Daryl wouldn't have minded it if not for the fact that right now it did nothing but make him even more uncomfortable. Darly was about to head back for the night so he could get up early tomorrow morning to do this all again when something caught his attention. There, between the trees, just barely visible against the dying light, was the outline of a house. Daryl unconciously quickened his pace and headed towards the house. With the lack of walkers all day, he almost forgot to make a quick pass around the house to look for any. Sure enough, there were no walkers in sight.  
Making sure he made little to no sound, he snuck towards the door of the house. The oak door lay on the floor just inside the house, obviously kicked in at some point in time. Daryl only hoped that it wasn't kicked in by someone who had possibly been chasing a little blonde haired girl as he cautiously stepped into the house. It was considerably more darker inside the abandoned house and he pulled out the flashlight that was hanging from his belt. Normally he would never use a flashlight if he didn't need to, but with his ability to see so low, he really had no other choice. Clicking the flashlight on, he scanned the room carefully. The living room that he had walked into looked like a tornado had ripped through it. Furniture lay scattered and broken, pictures smashed and glass littering the ground below his feet. He also noticed a rather large splatter of dark liquid painted on the wall, and from the faint coppery smell that still lingered around, he knew exactly what it was. He only hoped that he didn't know who it was from.  
The next room was just as trashed as the last one, as was all of the other rooms beyond it. Apparently there was some sort of fight that happened here, and by the looks of it, a pretty bad one. Daryl made a quick stop in the kitchen to look for any food while he was in the room, but anything that had been eatible had been taken already, only leaving rotted and moldy lumps that had possibly once been food. Once he had thoroughly checked the lower floors, with no luck, Daryl climbed the stairs. His flashlight waved back and forth in search of any danger, but it didn't pick anything up. The first few rooms on the second floor were just as destroyed as the rest of the house, which Daryl came to expect. But there was still no sign of Sophia.  
Daryl had finally came to the end of the hallway, which meant the last room. If Sophia or anything of value wasn't in the room, Daryl will be pissed the hell off. It had long since gotten dark while he was exploring the house and it would be even more dangerous to make the walk back to Hershel's farm. Holding his breath, Darly reached out and slowly turned the doorknob. The door gave away easily and opened up to reveal a dark hole that lead into the room. The first thing that Daryl noticed was not the darkness of the room, but the horrible smell that assaulted his nose. It smelt like blood, decay, rot, death, and burnt flesh all bundled up into one room. Daryl quickly grabbed the bandana that he had kept wrapped loosely around is neck and brought it up to cover his nose and mouth from the smell. Raising both his crossbow and the flashlight, Daryl slowly entered the room.   
The first thing that the flashlight caught was a little table, or the remains of one. It was one of those tables that little girls would have in their rooms to have pretend tea parties at, and sure enough, there were the smashed tea party toys next to the smashed table. Daryl looked closer and thought he saw blood speckled on one of the pink table legs, but he kept moving. He carefully stepped over an overturned bookshelf and the broken knick-knacks that littered the floor, keeping as close to the wall as he could. He noticed that some parts of the walls were splattered with the same substance as the living room wall downstairs. Daryl looked away and continued to look around the room.  
The bed, which once had a pink comforter on it, which was now shredded, lay overturned. The box spring had a large tear in it and the remains of the mattress sat in the center of the room. Daryl concluded that the burnt smell most likely came from the charred mattress, but that doesn't explain the smell of the burnt flesh or the fact that it looked like someone got into a fight with some sort of wild animal in the bedroom of a child. Daryl slowly walked over to the mattress and raised both the crossbow and flashlight towards the mattresse as he got ready to kick it over. Using the toe of his boot, he have the husk of the mattress a good, hard kick, sending it flying into the wall. What lay below the mattress nearly made Daryl gag.  
The charred and burnt body of someone lay on the floor, which was also burnt from the fire that most likely killed the person. Daryl crouched next to the body and ran his flashlight over it more carefully. The person was tall, much taller than him or anyone else that Daryl knew. Its long limbs lay sprawled out around it, one arm bent at an odd angle and one leg totally bent behind it. As he continued to examine the body, he noticed that the person was much skinnier than any human or even walker that he had seen. Even with most of its flesh burnt off, it was easy to tell that its stomach was sunken in, making its chest stick out even more. Whatever had happened in this room, Daryl was sure that it included this poor, burned to a crisp bastard.  
Daryl finally stood up and looked out the window. It was pitch black outside and Daryl sighed. Looks like he was heading back in the dark.  
Daryl quickly left the house and whatever the hell happened behind him as he walked down the driveway. It was more dangerous to find his way back to the farm house in the woods, so as long as he got to the road he would be able to find his way back with ease. With no sign of any walkers, Daryl threw his crossbow back over his shoulder, but made sure that his hand was close to the knife that was strapped to his waist. The gravel of the driveway crunched beneath his feet as he walked down the long driveway. Trees loomed overhead, creating a kind of tunnel that followed the driveway. Daryl's mind kept going back to what he had found in the house. It was obvious that whatever the hell had happened was bloody, and with one of those people dead, he couldn't help but wonder what happened to the other person.  
xXxXxXxX  
He had gotten about a half mile away from the house and down the driveway when he smelt it. Daryl stopped in his tracks and sniffed the air again, only to find what he had first smelt really was there: Blood. The iron smell was stronger than it had been in the house, and it was close. Daryl turned his head to the left, where he could tell the smell was coming from. He slowly moved his crossbow back into his hands and turned towards the smell. One part of his brain was telling him to turn tail and haul ass away from the smell and get the hell back to the farmhouse, but the part of his brain that he normally listened to urged him to find out what the smell was coming from.  
His heart began to beat wildly in his chest as he took his first step off of the driveway and into the weeds. He continued fowards, further into the woods. The smell got stronger and stronger has he adventured towards the said smell, but Daryl didn't move to cover his mouth and nose like he had before. When the smell was almost unbearable was when Daryl finally found the source. Actually, he almost stepped into it, only avoiding it at the last second by seeing the glint from the bottom of his eyes. Daryl took a step back and trailed the flashlight beam onto the pile of bones, meat, guts, and blood that sat in front of him. The smell was horrible, worse even than what was in the house. Daryl crouched down next to the bloody pile and set his crossbow down to grab his hunting knife instead. Using the blade of the knife, he moved pieces of meat around in an attempt to find any evidence that would tell him what this pile once was. With the lack of fur of any kind, Daryl started to assume the worse. Finally, he found an intact piece of skin that had a tattoo on it. The tattoo was of a sparrow, one of the most common tattoos that Daryl had seen. He himself would never get something so girlie, but he didn't judge those who did get them. Merle, on the other hand, was a totally different story.  
The sound of a branch snapping pulled Daryl out of the thoughts of his brother and put him back on high alert. Shelthing his blade and picking up his crossbow, Daryl stood up and turned in a complete circle, looking for the think that made the noise. Nothing jumped out of the dark at him and his flashlight didn't catch anything lurking in the trees around him, but that didn't help put him at ease at all. Something wet and sticky suddenly landed on his head with a plop and Daryl quickly and urgently wipped at his head with a hand, sending the think falling to his feet. There, at his feet, was a piece of skin that look suspiciously familiar. Daryl suddenly tensed up and his heart beat faster as he slowly pointed his flashlight up at the trees overhead, tipping his head up also. Sitting there, staring down at him, was a tall shadow. Clawed hands gripped the thick tree branch that it was crouched on and it cocked its head to the side when it found Daryl had seen it. Although Daryl didn't have the flashlight pointed directly at it, he knew that whatever the hell it was, it diffenantly wasn't fucking human, and that thought was all that he needed to get his body back under his control.  
Daryl quickly took aim at the thing and fired a bolt towards it before turning and running through the woods. He wasn't sure if he had actually hit the thing, but it hadn't jumped on him yet, so he assumed that he had surprised it enough with the bolt to be able to get a head start. He knew that he was running in the general direction of the house and he only hoped that he would get there in time. The trees overhead suddenly shook and Daryl knew that the thing had finally started its chase. Willing his burning legs to move faster, Daryl shot fowards through the trees, dodging everything that got in his way. As he ran, he had somehow managed to get his crossbow back onto his back, making it easier to run. Daryl's throat burned and when the leaves ahead of him moved, he thought that his heart would stop. The creature had made it in front of him, but stopped moving just long enough for Daryl to get passed it before it began after him again in the treetops. After it did this a few times, Daryl finally figured out what it was doing to him.  
Not only was it hunting him, it was also playing with him.  
Daryl felt anger rise in him, but there was nothing he could do right now unless he wanted to get himself killed and he couldn't do that seeing how he still had a little girl to find. His legs felt like jelly and he felt like he was about to fall when he was something ahead of him that gave him a burst of speed. Just ahead, through the trees, Daryl could see the lights from the Greene house. If he hadn't been running for his life, Daryl would have possibly smiled.  
He broke through the line of trees and into the field that lead to the fence, and just beyond the fence, the farm and his people. Then, behind him, he heard an ear splitting skrietch, which he could only assume came from whatever was chasing him. Daryl looked over his shoulder just in time to see the creature that was chasing him jump from the trees and into the weeds that Daryl was now running through. It was obvious that the thing was no longer playing games and it was serious now, making quick work of the distance between the two of them. Daryl tried to run faster, but his legs wouldn't work any quicker and the thing was gaining speed. He was just a few short yards away from the fence and he pulled the crossbow from his back and hurled it over the fence. Daryl thought he felt something touch his ankle, but a sudden gun shot and the horrible shriek from the thing called his attention away from his ankle. Daryl felt the worn wood beneath his hands as he gripped it and slung himself over the fence. He landed rather ungracefully on the other side of the fence, but he didn't care as he scrambled away from the fence and back to his feet. He quickly turned around to look for any signs of the creature.  
There, lurking in the weeds on the other side of the fence and now nursing a wounded arm, stalked the creature.  
Daryl slowly backed away from the fence, and he could hear the sounds of his people calling and running towards him, but he ignored them as he continued to stare at the creature, which stared right back at him. Although his mind was racing with what had just happened to him out there, there was only one question that kept running through his mind.  
Who was the one who shot that fucking thing?


	2. Chapter 2

The water was freezing against his skin, but Dean barely noticed. After his little run in with the wendigo, Dean was lucky to have found a creak not far from the house to wash the blood from his body. Dean sighed and slipped his shirt back on after he had thoroughly washed the blood from his chest and bound the wounds that the wendigo had caused.

xXxXxXxX

When he had gotten to Georgia, the last thing he had expected to find was a wendigo. He had actually found the wendigo by accident. Dean had had left the Impala on the road the day he found the wendigo to scavange for food in the woods. The first thing tipped Dean off that something was wrong was the lack of Croats that usually filled the woods. The absense of any animal sounds also put Dean on edge, the quiet of the woods making him nervous. Whatever was out there scared everything in this part of the woods off, and that always meant that it was something that he was used to hunting.

Dean instantly went back to the Impala and popped the trunk. Taking the false bottom up and resting it on a shotgun to keep it open, he grabbed a bag and began filling it with things he thought he may need. Once the bag was full of guns, bullets of all kinds and materials, salt, a small canister of gas, and anything else he needed, Dean made one last check to make sure he had his lighter and a back up box of matches in the pocket of his leather jacket, he closed the trunk and began his trek back into the woods. It didn't take him long to detect the smell of rot and even less time to locate the source of it. Laying between the trees, half hidden by debris on the ground, was the top half of a human. Dean knelt down next to it and inspected it.

It was obvious that a Croat didn't do this, Dean concluded after only a few minutes of inspecting the body. A Croat wouldn't leave this much of a body uneaten and seeing how there was no body of one anywhere around, whatever was eating the unlucky bastard was interrupted, most likely by another person. Judging by the state of decay of the remains of the body, the person was killed maybe a day or two ago, so that meant that whatever had gotten the bastard was most likely still around. After he had as much as he needed, Dean stood back up but not without plunging his hunting knife into the center of the person's forehead. You can never be too careful, can you?

The day had began to slowly slip away without Dean even realizing it, and that meant that he had to find a place for a fire soon. He debated on going back to the Impala, but seeing how the car was hidden well enough and he most likely wouldn't get back to it before night fell, he decided against the plan. Instead, he set out to find a place to set up camp. A clearing just big enough to set up a small fire only twenty minutes away from the body served as a good enough camp for the night. It didn't take Dean long to find wood and light the fire using a little bit of gas and a match. Leaning against a tree directly in front of the fire, Dean let himself stare at the flames and get lost in thought. Before he knew it, he was asleep.

vVvVvVvV

_"Dean!" Sam yelled out to him as they ran as fast as they could through the streets. "Don't worry Sam, I'm right here," Dean gasped, running up along side his brother. Sam turned his head only slightly to make sure Dean was there, which he was. His eyes widened as he saw the unsuspected Croat stumble out of the alley right next to Dean and reach for his brother. Without thinking, Sam reached a hand out to stop Dean and twisted his body so his other hand, which held a gun, was pointed at the Croat, and he fired. The impact of the bullet sent the Croat flying back, but it didn't get back up._

_"Woah, thanks Sam. I didn't even see that one," Dean said, looking from the Croat that almost got him back to his brother, sending a quick, yet thankful, grin at him. "C'mon, we need to keep moving."_

_Sam knew he was right, the Croats that had been chasing them in a horde were slowly getting closer and they needed to find a safe place to get away from them. Sam followed Dean as he started running down the street again. They turned a corner and Sam saw that Dean swerve towards a movie theatre down the street. The brothers stopped in front of it and Dean instantly dropped to his knees to begin the work of picking the lock. The glass of the doors were gone, replaced by thick planks of wood, which made Sam feel better. He heard Dean make a sound of triumph and he was the door swing open. A noise from down the street drew Sam's attention and he looked to see the first of the horde had rounded the corner and were now making their way towards the brothers._

_"Let's go Sam!" Dean yelled, grabbing Sam's arm and pulling him into the dark movie theatre. Dean slammed the door closed and stuck a thick plank of wood that was convieniantly placed next to the door through the doorhandles. Dean turned back around to face his brother, only to see the Croat grab him._

vVvVvVvV

"SAM!" Dean screamed, sitting up with such force that he almost made himself topple over. His breath was coming out it hard gasps, his throat feeling like it was rubbed raw. Sweat made a thin coat on his forehead and he felt it run down his back, soaking his thin shirt and making it stick to his back. He stared at the glowing embers of the fire with wide eyes and he felt the begining of a headache form in his temples. Dean closed his eyes and rubbed his temples with his fingers, hoping to massage the headache away. He pushed the dream to the back of his head and began to get ready for the day. Today he was going to find the thing that killed the person in the woods.

As it turned out, he did find out what killed the person, but he lost it. Dean had found the wendigo in the shadows of thick trees, seeing how there were no caves around for it to hide in. Dean was able to sneak up to it, but had no way of getting up the tree to kill it. So, instead, he raised the pistol in his hands and aimed it towards the wendigo. Squeezing the trigger, the bullet jumped out of the barrel and flew towards the dark form of the wendigo. The bullet connected with the wendigo's shoulder, waking it up and almost sending it flying off of the branch. It managed to grab ahold of the branch at the last moment and keep its spot, quickly moving its eyes down to look at Dean. Dean was about to fire another bullet at the wendigo, but it disappeared into the trees, leaving Dean alone.

"Damn it," Dean swore, shouldering the bag full of weapons and running after the wendigo. The wendigo was almost invisible in the dark treetops, but Dean was barely able to see its outline. Branches shook as the wendigo jumped from one to another, quickly puting distance between the two of them. Suddenly, the wendigo veered to the right, and Dean, who had not been able to stop in time, felt the ground beneath his feet disappear.

Dean's back painfully connected with the hard slope of the hill he had just ran off of. The breath escaped his lung and black dots formed in his eyes when his head hit the slope right after. He slide down the slope, and he despratly tried to grab something to stop himself, but there was nothing to grab. His legs hit the rocks on the bottom of the slope and they buckled, his knees hitting next and finally his head, the side of is head hitting a rock with such force that it knocked him unconscious.

vVvVvVvV

Dean felt something hard pressing against the side of his face and his whole body ached. Grunting, he painfully pulled himself up from the ground and the rocks he was laying on. God, that was not a good idea to pass out on those damned things. Dean wipped away the blood that ran down his forehead and touched the tender wound where it was coming from. He winced and let his hand fall back down to his side. Painfully turning, Dean looked for the bag that had fallen with him. He located the dark shadow and limped over to it, bending down to pick it up.

It was dark when Dean had woken up, and it pissed him off that he had spent a whole day sleeping on rocks. At least he knew what he was dealing with now. Looking up the slope that he had ungracefully fell off of, Dean determined that it was too steep to climb. Now he had to find another way to the road, and he had no idea where the hell he was.

"Just my freaking luck," Dean muttered, limping off of the rocks and onto flat ground. He was honestly surprised that there was nothing broken. Jumping off the rocks, Dean gathered wood for another fire as fast as he could and built one at the edge of the rocks. Once the fire was built, Dean unsheathed his knife and quickly carved Anasazi symbols in a circle around him and the fire.

Sitting close to the fire, Dean refused to sleep.

vVvVvVvV

Dean moved as soon as day broke. He made quick work of putting out the fire and earasing the symbols. He knew that he was safe in the day, but he wanted to get back to the Impala as fast as he could so he could come up with a game plan for getting rid of the wendigo. He sure as hell wasn't going to let it run free.

The walk through the woods wasn't as easy as Dean thought it would be. He still ached from the fall on the previous day, and that only made progress slower. Around noon, Dean had pulled out a bag of jerky and munched on the tough meat as he continued through the woods. It was a few hours after noon when he saw the house.

The first glimpse Dean got of the house was through the trees. He quietly moved to the edge of the trees, making sure to stay hidden within the shadows of the trees. Digging through his bag, Dean pulled out the pair of binoculars that he had packed on a whime, and looked through them at the house. He could see people moving around outside the house and a R.V. sitting by the fence with someone on top of it in a lawn chair and a rifle in their hands. Tents stood around the R.V. and Dean could see people moving in and out of them.

Finally deciding what to do, Dean lowered the binoculars and started to set up camp where he was at the edge of the woods and the field. Although he had decided not to go to camp for obvious reasons like they might shot him or he might put them in danger, he still wanted to protect them from at least the wendigo, and that meant putting the Anasazi symbols around the farm. There was no way he could do that now without possible getting shot, so he had to wait until it was dark, which also meant that he would have to waste a night that he could be using for hunting the wendigo.

As it slowly got darker, Dean continued to keep a close eye on the house. He waited until all the lights in the house, R.V., and tents were out, along with the fire. Dean did notice that there was still a person on the roof of the camper, but as long as he was careful the person wouldn't notice him. After hiding his duffle bag in a tree, Dean stayed low to the ground as he crept through the weeds towards the house.

The process of writing the symbols were surprisingly easy, Dean putting one every few feet in a circle around the house. Trying to go unseen, now that was a different story. The person on the camper almost saw him a few times, but luckily years of hunting made it possible for him to hid quickly and efficiantly. Once the symbols were all drawn, Dean snuck back to his camp and drew the same symbols around him, protecting himself.

Tomorrow night he would continue his hunt for the wendigo.

vVvVvVvV

It took Dean three nights to find the wendigo again. This time, instead of being in the tree tops, Dean found it crouched in the woods, leaning over something. By the smell of it, Dean knew exactly what it was eating. Not trusting getting this close to it without injuring it in some way, Dean raised his pistol and fired, hitting the wendigo square in the back. It shrieked and spun around towards Dean. It bared its teeth at him and turned, running away.

"Son of a bitch," Dean swore before giving chase to the wendigo, jumping over the pile of meat that had once been a human. Although he couldn't keep up with it, Dean made sure as hell that he kept it in his line of sight. Eventually, he followed the wendigo into a house in the middle of the woods. The wendigo broke the door down with its shoulder, not bothering to stop running. Dean fired the pistol again, and judging by the shriek, he had hit it. Running into the house, he found that he was right.

The wendigo had been standing by a wall when Dean shot it, splattering blood on it. Dean quickly dropped his bag and pulled out his lighter. Before he could even flip it open, though, the wendigo was in front of him. Dean felt a sharp pain in his chest as the wendigo hit him, sending him flying into a chair and knocked it over. Dean rolled over quickly and stood up, but the wendigo hit him again, knocking him into another piece of furniture. Dean looked up just in time to see the wendigo knock over some more furniture and ran out of the room.

Dean struggled to his feet and painfully followed it. The wendigo had trashed the other rooms, most likely hoping to slow Dean down. Dean had to give it to the monster, though, for being smart enough to do that. He heard the wendigo running above him and he ran up the stairs as quickly as he could. At the end of the hallway, he saw a door that sat wide open.

He slowly approached the door, the pistol raised in one hand and the canister of gas that he had grabbed from the bag before going into the house in the other. He also made sure that the box of matches were in his pocket. Making sure not to make any noise, Dean slowly made his way towards the door. Peeking in, he saw the wendigo standing in the middle of the room. It was facing away from the door, making it easy for Dean to take another shot at it. This time the bullet went through the neck, taking a rather large chunk out of it. The wendigo turned and launched itself at Dean, knocking them both down. Dean yelped in pain when his still hurt back hit a small table that was in the corner of the room. He felt it break beneath him and small pieces of wood stabbed him in the back.

Grinding his teeth together, Dean pushed the wendigo off of him with all his strength and sent it flying into the bookshelf. The wendigo hit the bookshelf hard and fell to the ground, the bookshelf crashing down on top of it. Dean took the moment to climb to his feet and open the canister of gas. As soon as the wendigo pushed the bookshelf off of itself, Dean dumped the gas on it. The wendigo reached out and grabbed Dean's ankle, throwing him over it. Dean landed on the bed and fell over the other side. Dropping the canister and pistol, Dean took the box of matches out of his pocket and grabbed one. He quickly began the attempt to light it.

"Come on," Dean muttered when the first match broke. He looked up as he pulled out another match and saw the wendigo was making its way towards him. Dean's heart lept when the match finally lit and just in time. The wendigo had moved close enough for Dean to throw the match onto it. The think shrieked as it went up in flames and stumbled away from Dean. Getting up, Dean did the first thing he thought of to stop the wendigo from getting away. He grabbed the mattresse and threw it on top of the wendigo, sending it to the ground. The mattresse moved a little, then stopped. Dean sighed and leaned against the wall, catching his breath. He painfully bent down to grab the gas canister and pistol before carefully walking around the flaming wendigo and out of the room.

When he to the living room, Dean made sure the grab the duffle bag before leaving the house and dead wendigo in the house behind him.

xXxXxXxX

It's been a few days since the wendigo incedent and Dean had stayed around the farmhouse to make sure that everything was safe. He hadn't redone the symbols around the house, but Dean was pretty sure that they were still there. He still hurt all over and the had cuts on his back and arms, along with large wounds from the wendigo's claws across his chest that will most likely scar. He also had bruises covering his body, and they were sure as hell going to be there for awhile.

Dean was sitting at his camp far enough in the woods from the farmhouse that no one would see the fire he started. He had managed to catch a rabbit, which was the only living thing he's seen other than the people at the house since he killed the wendigo. There were also no Croats around yet, which made Dean on edge.

The rabbit was cooking over the fire when he heard it: The shriek of a wendigo. Dean froze, listening even closer. He heard nothing else, but was absolutly sure that was a wendigo. Dean jumped up, ignoring the pains that shot through his body, and quickly put the fire out. He grabbed all his things and ran towards where he heard the wendigo. Dean got barely three yards before he was the man running through the woods. Dean stopped and hid between the trees, watching as the man ran. Dean noticed that the man had a crossbow on his back and a pistol and knife at his hip, but he wasn't using any of them. The man's main objective was to get away from the wendigo, and Dean understood that.

Dean got snapped out of his thoughts as he watched the man run through the woods and into the field towards the house. Dean suddenly realized where he had seen the man: He was from the farmhouse. The wendigo jumped from the trees and into the grass, quickly catching up to the man. Dean ran fowards and into the field, raising his pistol and aiming it at the wendigo. He pulled the trigger and the bullet hit the wendigo just as it grabbed for the man. Dean sighed in relief as the man jumped the fence into safety, but watched carefully as the wendigo stalked on the other side of the fence, watching the man.

Now Dean had more problems that he really didn't need. Not only did he have another wendigo to take care of, this wendigo had a transfiction on the man it just tired to kill.

Just great.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, no more school means faster chapter updates, or at least I hope. I hope everyone is enjoying this so far and there's more to come!

He was getting sick of staying locked up in camp. Daryl now found himself stuck around the farmhouse, the others refusing the let him out of their sights. They probably knew that if they did that then he would sneak back off into the woods to look for Sophia on his own. Daryl couldn't argue with them though, they were right to assume that he would do that. So instead, he was stuck helping around the farm, doing work that didn't aggravate his hurt ankle.

It has been almost a week since the incident that happened in the woods. When he had gotten over the fence that night, he had watched the thing that chased him pace on the other side of the fence. Rick had been the first to get to him, grabbing his shoulder to see if he was alright. The action had called Daryl's attention away from the thing on the other side of the fence for only a brief second, but when he looked back, it was gone. That was the moment when the pain finally kicked in. As it turned out, when the thing had grabbed his ankle, it had dug its claws into the muscle and ripped a good chunk out when it fell away. Herschel said that it was a miracle that whatever had grabbed him missed anything valuable in his ankle, but he still had to take it easy until it healed enough, which would probably take a month or more, which also meant that he can't be out there looking for Sophia. When his wounded ankle was taken care of, the others had pressed him to know the details of what happened to him out there, but Daryl refused to tell them anything that happened. There was no way that they would believe him.

Now, though, being stuck in the camp for a week was making him bat shit crazy. He was has been too close to these people for way too long, especially Shane, who just pissed the shit out of him, always giving him dirty looks and acting like Daryl was just a dumbass redneck. Sometimes Daryl just wanted to punch that man in the face. The lack of sleep he was getting also probably contributed to his horrible mood. Since the night he got back, Daryl hadn't been able to sleep well. The lack of noise from the woods would actually keep him awake, and he remembered the night after he had gotten back.

He wasn't supposed to be on his feet yet, but the day a Dixon took orders would be the day hell freezes over. Instead, he rolled around in his tent for hours on end, but sleep just wouldn't come to him. Finally giving up on the delusion of sleep, Daryl had grabbed his crossbow for good measure, and quietly slipped out of his tent, making sure to zip it closed behind him. His ankle have a shot of pain as he made the mistake of putting to much weight on it, but Daryl simply switched feet and limped away from the tent. The light from whoever was sitting on top of Dale's camper was the only thing in the dark, and Daryl waved to the person, Dale, on top of the camper. Dale simply waved back before turning his attention back to the world outside the farm. Deciding to do a quick round around the closest fence to make sure there was no holes or walkers around, Daryl took off away from the camper. He wasn't paying attention to where he was going until it was too late.

The low growl snapped him out of his thoughts, and he looked over towards the fence. His feet stopped in their tracks, and he was worried that his heart did the same thing. There, exactly where it had been the night before when it chased him into the farm, was the monster. It was pacing again, but refused to take its eyes off of Daryl, who just stared back at it. Noticing what he was doing, Daryl ground his teeth together and turned away from the thing. Hopefully it was gone tomorrow.

It wasn't. It was there the next night, and the night after that, and the night after that, and before Daryl knew it, a week had passed and the thing was still there, the same place every night, watching him as he walked by. Daryl had made a habit of going there an hour after dark and watching the thing until it would disappear when the sun began to rise. It was like a little dance between the two of them.

"Hey Daryl, have you been getting enough sleep? You don't seem very awake right now," Carol asked, one night a week after his attack when they were sitting around the fire eating dinner. It was one of the only times she had ventured out of the camper since Sophia had disappeared, and the first time that she had asked how someone was doing since then. Daryl looked up at her and tired to make himself look a little less sleepy if he could so not to make her worry about more.

"Nah, 'm fine. No need to worry 'bout me," Daryl replied, looking at the short haired woman over the fire. By the look she have him though, she didn't believe him.

"You know, she is right Daryl. You are more tired than you have been since you got back a week ago," Dale joined in, and Daryl ground his teeth together in frustration. He didn't need people worrying about him. "Could it be because of your disappearances in the middle of the night?"

"Wait, you disappear at night?" Rick asked in surprise as he looked up from his meal and at Daryl.

"It ain't none of anyone's business what I do," Daryl growled at them angrily. "I can do whatever the fuck I want, ain't no one gonna stop me."

"Daryl, we're just worried about you. You haven't been the same since you got back," Carol tired again, hoping to get through to the redneck, but by the furious look on his face, she didn't succeed. "Please, Daryl, just tell us what happened to you out there."

"I already told ya it was fuckin' nothin'. And I don't need people like you ta worry 'bout me. I got along just fine before I met all ya," Daryl told her, not bothering to hide the anger in his voice anymore. If their aim was to piss him off, they sure as hell succeeded. He stood up, forgetting about the food that he was just picking at. "'m leavin'. Don't bother ta follow."

Ignoring their calls for him to come back, Daryl stalked away from them and towards the fence. By now he knew exactly where he was going and he didn't need to think about it anymore. The fence quickly came into view, as well as that thing that still paced along it. When it heard Daryl approaching, it stopped what it was doing and watched him as he sat down next to a tree stump and leaned his back against it. The stump was a reasonable distance from the fence and allowed Daryl a clear view of the thing. His crossbow lay over his lap and he took out a rag to begin cleaning it. Although it was dark and he had almost no light to see by, it passed the time. Looking up briefly, Daryl was mildly surprised to see the thing hadn't bothered to continue pacing, like it usually did. Instead it had sat back on its heels and watching him. Daryl thought he saw a glint of curiosity in its eyes, but he quickly dismissed it as a play of his eyes and the light from the moon. He quickly went back to cleaning his crossbow.

"God, who the hell do they think they are?" Daryl suddenly burst, throwing the rag onto the ground next to him in a mixture of anger and frustration. He knew where they were coming from, of course, but that didn't make any damn difference. The only person he ever needed had been left on a rooftop in Atlanta and had cut off his own god damn hand. He still hadn't forgiven any of them for that. Now they were trying to get all friendly with them and he had no desire to do such a thing. All he wanted to do was find that girl and then leave, and not look back. When he finds that girl, Sophia, he would have done everything he could for these people and then hopefully they'll let him leave without a fuse.

"Do ya think they'll let me just go?" Daryl asked, looking at the thing on the other side of the fence. Of course it didn't respond, only cocking its head to the side and continued to stare at him. Daryl let out a small, humorless chuckle and wiped a hand down his face. "This place really is makin' me crazy. I need ta get the hell outta here."

And that was exactly what he was going to do.

xXxXxXxX

The sun had just risen over the camp when Daryl left. With the horse he took from the stables, he headed into the woods. Without a map, he was unsure where exactly he was heading, but after a life in the woods, he figured he would manage. The only thing he didn't want to do was accidently make his way back to the house where he encountered the thing that waits at the fence every night for him. Making sure he was going in the opposite direction of the house, Daryl kicked the horse into a steady gallop. He had a feeling it was going to be a long day.

The day was long, or at least it seemed by the time noon rolled around. For the first half of the day, Daryl had tried to stay on the horse for as long as he could. It hurt his ankle to much every time he jumped on and off the horse, so it was just easier to stay on it. As Daryl and the horse walked along a fairly small hill, Daryl happened to look down at the river below and saw something that caught his eye. Stopping the horse, he looked closer at what he saw.  
Sure enough, caught on a fallen tree in the water, was Sophia's doll.

Jumping down off the horse, he only flinched slightly when his feet connected with the ground. After tying the horse to a tree, Daryl slowly and carefully made his way down to the river. It was a fairly slow process, but when he finally got to the bottom, he limped through the water and towards the doll. Daryl grabbed the waterlogged doll and looked at it.

"Sophia!" Daryl called out, turning in a circle to look for any sign of the girl. Not seeing anything, Daryl securely strapped the doll to his belt and slowly made his way back up the bank to the horse. Climbing back up onto the horse, Daryl lead it along the bank and river, hoping to find any other signs of the girl.

The feeling of falling off of the horse happened before the neighs even met his ears. Before he knew it, Daryl had landed painfully on his back from where he fell off the horse and rolled down the embankment. Each rock, tree limb, and hard patch of dirt he it on the way down caused pain to shoot through his body. He also felt his hurt ankle hit something and a sudden warmness enveloped it. That, though, was quickly wiped away when he felt his body hit water and slide the last few feet and land in the shallow water. The crossbow flew from his hands and pain suddenly erupted from his side, drowning out the pain from his ankle. Tilting his head up just enough to see his side, he saw the bloody bolt sticking through his shirt.

"Sonovabitch!" Daryl swore and let his head drop back into the water. The pain in his side was hell of a lot worse than that of his ankle. He looked at it again and groaned in pain. This was going to be one hell of a wound to fix. No matter how much it hurt, though, he couldn't lay here any longer. He needed to get up and find that girl.

Grinding his teeth together, he climbed to his hands and knees. Slowly and painfully, he drug himself to the sand bank, where he kneeled and took out his knife. Using it to cut the sleeves off of his shirt, he tied the two strips of cloth together and straightened himself so he could tie it around his waist. Pain shot up his spine as the tied the cloth around the bolt wound to slow the blood. Taking a few heavy breaths, Daryl looked up from where he had just fallen. His heart sank when he saw that the embankment was taller than he had originally thought. No wonder it hurt so damn much to fall. Determined to find his way up, he painfully got to his feet and noticed a stick that looked sturdy enough to hold his weight as he climbed the embankment. He was about to start the no doubt painful climb up when a noise caught his attention. Turning towards the noise, he watched as the bushes not far from him began to shake. The only thing he had was his knife, and if there was more than one walker than he was screwed.

Instinctively, he reached for his crossbow, then remembered that he had dropped it when he fell. He needed to find that damned thing, and fast. Vaguely remembering where he fell, he limped over to it and poked around in the deep water with the stick. He felt the stick hit something, and reached down in the water, and he felt his heart leap briefly as his fingers wrapped around the cold metal of the crossbow. He lifted it from the water and made it back to the embankment as fast as he could manage. Pain ran up his body as he started the climb. Using the stick to help pull himself up, he groaned and saw black at the edges of his eyes. Setting his jaw, he willed the dark that tried to creep into his eyes away and continued to climb. Reaching for a small, nearby tree, he used it to pull himself up. After stopping for a moment to catch his breath, he reached for another small tree. The stick Daryl was using fell away with the earth under him, almost causing him to fall backwards. Glaring at the stick, he tossed it back down the hill.

"Come on, stop being such a pussy,"* Daryl groaned, turning away from the stick he had just thrown. Taking a deep breath, he hauled himself up and attempted to grab onto another tree. It didn't work, and he was left with holding onto on small tree. Then, the tree suddenly slipped from his grasp, and it felt like his heart leaped into his throat as he desperately tried to grab onto something else, but everything slipped from his hands. His back hit the hill again, this time even more painful. He rolled back down the hill and his world suddenly went black.

xXxXxXxX

He heard footsteps approach him, and he slowly opened his eyes and turned his head, his neck groaning in protest. The world around him was spinning and it took him a moment to focus on the face that leaned over him. He was surprised to see the familiar face of his brother looking down at him.

"Why don't ya pull that arrow out, dummy?" Merle asked, staring down at Daryl. "Ya can bind ya wound later."

Daryl couldn't help but smile at his brother's usual no shit attitude. His bother may be an asshole, but he was still family and Daryl was happy to see him doing well. "Merle."

Merle let out a short chuckle before looking at Daryl up and down and asked, "What happened ta you? Ya takin' a fiesta or somethin'?"

"Shitty day bro," he replied, grimacing slightly as his voice scraped his raw throat. Fuck, he felt like hell.

"What me ta get ya a pillow, maybe rub ya feet?" Merle said with his usual cockiness. Daryl remembered the times that his cockiness got Merle in trouble with everyone.

"Screw you," Daryl barely managed to get out. His words owned him a little laugh from his brother.

"You're the one screwed by the looks of it. All them years I spent tryin' ta make a man outta you, this what I get?" Merle asked. "You're gonna die out here, little brotha, and for what?"

"A girl. They lost their little girl," he replied, letting his head roll to the side a little and lowering his eyelids ever so slightly.

"So ya got a thing for little girls now?" Merle asked and Daryl felt anger rise in him without him even noticing.

"Shut up," Daryl grunted out, wishing he wasn't so damn weak so he could punch his brother in the face.

"I noticed that ya weren't out lookin' for old Merle no more."

"We weren't able to find ya, bro."

"Like hell ya did. Ya let out first chance ya got."

"You're the one that let out," Daryl said. "All ya had to do was wait. We went back for ya, Rick and I."

Merle took a moment before saying, "This the same Rick that cuffed me to a rooftop in the first place? Forced me to cut off my own hand? That the one ya talkin' about, huh? You his bitch now?"

At the mention of Merle's hand, Daryl's eyes instantly went to where it should have been missing, but there it was, plain as day. That was his clue that Merle really wasn't here, that this whole conversation was happening in his mind. He looked back up at Merle when he was done talking and said, "I ain't nobodies bitch."

"Your a joke is what ya are, going after a bunch of pansy asses, niggers, and democrats," Merle said with his signature shit eating half smirk. "Ya ain't nothin' but a freak to them. Redneck trash. I'll tell ya that they're talkin' 'bout ya behind ya back. Ya know that, don't cha? One of these days they'll scrape ya off their heels like dog shit."

Daryl had stopped listening to Merle about half way through. His mind was wondering and he thought that he was going to pass out again. Merle pulled him back with a slap on his leg and he said, "Hey. They aren't ya kin, ya blood. Now you listen to me. Ain't nobody ever gonna care 'bout you 'scept me, your brotha. Ain't nobody ever would. Come on, get up off ya feet or I'll kick ya teeth in."

Daryl felt Merle let him go and watched him stand up. Pain shot up his let as he kicked Daryl's hurt foot. He bent at the waist and grabbed his boot, pulling and hitting him in an attempt to get him up. Daryl closed his eyes and rolled his head to the side, to tired to bother with his brother anymore. Suddenly, the telltale sound of a walker snapped his attention back, and he lazily looked back down at his feet. Knawing at his boot wasn't his brother, but a walker, the first one that he had seen in over a week. Daryl's heart started to beat faster and he let out a small yelp as the walker looked up at him. He tried to slide upwards to get away from the walker and kicked the walker in the head as hard as he could, ignoring the pain that shot up his leg.

Daryl looked to his right and saw his crossbow. He reached desperately for it, but the walker was on him before he could grab it. Pushing one arm between him and the walker, Daryl used the other to find a rock and bashed it into the walker's arm, then its head. Daryl rolled them over and tired to pin the walker, but it pushed him off and almost got back on top of him. At the last minute, Daryl kicked the walker off of him again and grabbed the first thing that he found, which happened to be the stick that he threw before. Hitting the walker and getting him on the ground, Daryl straddled the walker and brought the stick down multiple times on the walkers head until it resembled ground meat. Rolling off the walker, Daryl managed to see the other walker stumbling towards him way too fast for his liking. Laying on his back, Daryl ground his teeth together and grabbed ahold of the arrow sticking out of his side. Taking a deep breath, he pulled it out, almost screaming in pain. Quickly grabbing his crossbow, Daryl loaded it as fast as he could. The walker was right over him when he finally got the crossbow loaded and shot. The arrow went through the walker's forehead and it fell next to him. Relief washed over him as he took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself down. Painfully sitting up, Daryl looked around at the work the did on the walkers. He was about to stand when he heard another walker. Fear racked through him as he saw it slowly walk out of the woods across from him. Daryl looked around for another bolt, but saw none. He felt totally screwed.

Then he heard an all too familiar shriek and looked back at the walker just in time to see the thing that was stalking him drop from a tree branch from above and onto the walker, knocking it to the ground. Even from where he sat, Daryl could here the sound as the thing tore into the walker. The woods went silent after the thing was done and he watched cautiously as it stood back up. He noticed that it stayed in the shadows as it turned back to look at him. They stared at each other before the thing suddenly pulled itself back up into the trees and disappeared. That was when Daryl realized that the thing hadn't vanished like he first thought it did.

No, it was following him.

And it may have just saved his life.

And that scared him even more than the walkers did.

xXxXxXxX

Daryl felt like he was going to pass out again when he got to the top of the hill. The illusion Merle had vanished when he got done climbing the hill, and honestly, Daryl was kind of happy. He didn't have enough energy to deal with his brother, even if it was just an illusion of him. The walker ears hit his chest as Daryl painfully limped through the trees. His hurt ankle was even worse now, and it hurt almost too much to walk. Leaning against a tree, Daryl stopped to catch his breath. His eyesight suddenly went fuzzy and he felt himself start to tip forwards, too weak to catch himself. He prepared himself for when he hit the ground, but the impact never came. Instead he felt something snake around his waist and he opened his eyes to look at the leather clad arms that had found their way around his waist to keep him from falling. Panic raced through Daryl and he struggled against the arms, but he was too weak to push them away.

"Whoa, hold your horses, cowboy," a deep voice said, and Daryl felt himself being genlty set on the ground and leaned against the tree. The person who helped him sat down across from him, allowing Daryl to finally see him. The person was maybe the same height and build as him, but his hair was longer and he had a beard, both obviously unkempt. A leather jacket covered a flannel that looked too big for him and his jeans were coated in dirt.

"Who the hell are you?" Daryl demanded, trying to sound angry, but he was still too weak.

"It doesn't matter. I just happened to be walking by and saw that you needed help," the man said. "Catch your breath and I'll help you back to your camp."

Alarms instantly went off in Daryl's head. "How do you know I have a camp? Have you been watching me?"

The man laughed and shook his head. "No, I haven't, but you must have a camp somewhere because you have nothing on you, no backpack or food."

Daryl huffed. "Well, I don't need ya fuckin' help."

He tried to stand up, but immediately almost fell over. The other man was on his feet in instants and kept Daryl from falling again. Daryl angrily ground his teeth together, but knew the man was right. Night was falling quickly and if he wanted to get back before that thing could walk around freely, he needed help.

"Fine, I'll let ya help me, but we need ta get a few things set first," Daryl said to the man. "First, ya don't touch me unless I tell ya. Second, you leave me when I tell ya ta. Got it?"

"Yup," the man said, flashing him a quick grin. Daryl groaned. What the hell had he just gotten himself into?

xXxXxXxX

The man had kept his promise and didn't help Daryl unless he asked, which was almost never. It was slowly getting harder for Daryl to walk, a mixture of blood lose and his hurt ankle being the cause of it. Neither man talked, which was fine for both of them. When Daryl recognized that they were getting close to the farm, he stopped, which caused the man to stop also.

"This is as far as you go. My camp is right up there, so ya need ta leave now," Daryl said to the man, who nodded. Daryl, satisfied, turned away from the man, but quickly thought of something and turned back to him. "By the way, there's somethin' out here worse than walkers. Just watch out for 'em."

"Thanks for the warning," the man said, waving at him before turning and disappearing into the woods. As Daryl watched the man leave, he couldn't help but wonder if he was the one that shot that thing the first night.

Forcing the man out of his head, Daryl turned back to the farm and finished the short walk back. When he was in the field between the farm and woods, he saw figures running towards him. Too of it, he didn't understand what they were saying, but then he felt a pain in his head and his world went black.

Again.


	4. Chapter 4

It's been a week since Dean saved the man the first time. He assumed that after he made the wendigo lose its prey, then it would leave, but he was wrong. Seeing the wendigo back at the fence the next night was one of the most surprising things that Dean has ever witnessed, and he's seen some crazy shit. He had waited another few days to see if the wendigo would leave, but it never did. The man he saved even came out and watched the wendigo from the safe side of the fence every night.

On the fifth night, Dean had snuck up on the wendigo before the man was scheduled to show up. When the wendigo had noticed him, it had run, not giving Dean any chance to act. Pissed off, Dean went back to his camp that was just inside the woods, only to look back to see the wendigo was back at the fence. Since then, he had tried to kill it a few more times, but it always ran. For some reason, the wendigo had some sort of fixation with the man it had tried to eat, and that was dangerous.

Dean had watched the house closely and had learned that the people at the house were looking for a little girl named Sohpia. Had followed some of the people when they left a few times, he had learned all he needed: the exact number of people at the house, their names, and that he did not like the guy named Shane at all.

Today he was following someone named Rick and the dick Shane. Both armed with a rifle, it was obvious to Dean that they knew how to use them. Judging by their lack of skills when it comes to watching their environment, though, told him that they weren't hunters, nor were they used to being out in the woods. If they had been, they would have noticed Dean following close behind. He was currently listening closely to their conversation.

"Do ya think Carl will get better soon?" Shane was asking Rick. Carl. Dean had learned that that was the name of Rick's son, who had somehow been shot.

"Of course he will. We both know that he's a stubborn boy," Rick replied. "He won't let a gunshot take him, and neither will I."

"Well, I gotta agree with you. He's stubborn, just like his old man," Shane said, slapping Rick on the back and both men laughed. Dean could only scowl at the gesture that Shane made. Rick may not be able to tell when someone was lying, but he sure as hell could.

Letting himself get distracted never ended well, and it was no different this time. A tree branch snapped under Dean's foot and both men he was following tensed up. Dean swore at himself in his mind and ducked behind a tree just as the men turned, their guns raised and pointed in his direction. Dean held his breath and hoped that they would brush the noise off, but they didn't.

"Who's there?" Rick called. Dean swore at himself again, but made no indication of moving.

"Do you think it was a walker?" Shane asked quietly.

"If it was it would have come at us already. I think it's something else," Rick replied. "Well, the only make sure way to find out what it is is to shoot," Shane said and Dean felt his blood run cold. He heard Rick begin to say something, but it got drowned out when a shot was fired. It hit the side of the tree and took bark with it, but Dean didn't move. Shane fired again, this bullet closer to him, but he still didn't move. After a few moments of silence, Shane said, "I guess it was nothing. Come on, let's get going."

Dean waited a few moments to make sure that they were gone before ducking back out from behind the tree. Something grazed his cheek and Dean yelped in surprise. Another bullet was fired and pain erupted from his leg. He collapsed to the ground, but struggled to get back up instantly, only the recieve a swift kick in the stomach that sent him flying onto his side. The sound of a gun firing again met his ears and Dean felt the tell tale feeling of a bullet digging its way into his side. Grinding his teeth together and squeezing his eyes tight, he willed himself not to cry out. He's had worse.

"Why the hell were you following us?" the person who shot him demanded and Dean opened his eyes to see Shane towering over him, his rifle pointed down at his head. Yup, it was official. Dean fucking hated this guy. Refusing the answer the dick's question earned him a kick to the skull, which dazed him. "Answer me!"

"Shane, stop it. You already shot the man, you don't need to kick him too," Rick said and Dean turned his eyes to him. The man seemed to freeze in surprise when he was his eyes.

"This ain't no time for your justice, Rick. This piece of shit was following us and I want to know why. He might even know where Sophia is," Shane scowled and knelt down next to Dean. He grabbed a fistfull of Dean's hair and forced his head up so he was looking at him again. "So, are you going to tell us or not? I could always use a punching bag."

Anger coursed through Dean as he glared at the man holding his hair. Having dealt with this situation before, almost on a regular basis, Dean was used to it but it didn't mean that he liked it. Being subdued wasn't his style, unless it was in bed and done by some busty beauty who usually came from a bar, not it the woods and diffinently not by some fugly dude who smelt worse than he did when he climbed out of hell. Dean moved his hand slightly, testing to see if either man noticed, which they didn't. Slowly inching his hand to his belt, he searched for his knife. He eventually found it, but the sound it made when Dean was pulling it from its sheath made Shane looking down at it. Dean saw rage fire in his eyes and he stood again. Bringing his foot back, he kicked Dean hard in his stomach, sending him flying back into a tree and the knife skidding out of his hand and into the woods somewhere. The breath got knocked out of Dean's lungs when his back connected painfully with the tree and he fell to his hands and knees, struggling to catch his breath.

"That wasn't a very smart move there, buddy," Shane said, walking back over to Dean and slapped his foot hard onto his back, sending him back to the ground.

"Shane, enough," Rick said, and Dean turned his head slightly to look up to see that the other man had grabbed Shane's arm to stop him. "You've done enough to him. Look. we'll take him back to the farm with us and then we can decide what to do then."

"You really think that I'm going to let some guy who was following up back at camp with us and be around our people, around Lori and Carl?" Shane countered with. Dean quickly ignored their arguing and used the opportunity to grab the demon killing knife that was strapped to his belt. Luckly he hadn't been noticed yet and he used that to is advantage. Ignoring the pain that shot through him as he moved, Dean lunged off the ground and towards Shane, digging the knife deep into the man's upper thigh. Shane let out a painful yell and stumbled away from Dean. Yanking the knife back, Dean struggled to his feet and turned away from the distracted and surprised men. He ran as fast as he could into the woods, disappearing from sight. Thankfully no one followed him and he could stop running and give his throbbing leg a rest.

Finding an area with no walkers or people was a pretty easy task. Find something to sit on while he tended to his wounds, now that was a different struggle altogether. After a while of searching, Dean finally found a rock that would work for his needs. He shrugged off his jacket, earning a shot of pain to flow through his body before sat down. He also took off the black shirt he had under the jacket. With a lack of supplies, Dean was limited to what he could do for the wounds. Tearing off a length of fabric from the shirt, Dean tied it around the wound on his shoulder as best he could. He used another piece of fabric that he tore away for the gunshot on his thigh, tying the makeshift bandage around over his pants. Next he checked his bruises. The skin on his stomach and sides were already turning an ugly purple color and he could only assume that his ribs were probably bruised also. He didn't even want to look at his face. Dean sighed and leaned back on the rock. God, what he wouldn't give for Cas and his angle mojo. Sadness washed through his body at the thought of his lost friend and Dean squeezed his eyes shut to push the feeling away. There was no time to think like that.

Slowly getting up, Dean put on the remains of his shirt and jacket slowly. Surveying his surroundings, Dean's heart sank when he realized that he had no idea where the hell he was. Looks like he could only walk and hope he gets back to the house.

xXxXxXxX

By some miracle, Dean had found his camp again. It was dark by the time he saw the lights coming from the house. It wasn't long before he found his camp from there. Lighting a small fire behind the pile of rocks he set up to hide the flames, Dean grabbed the pack where he kept his first-aid things and went back to the fire for warmth. Wincing in pain, Dean pulled his shirt off again and untied the makeshift bandage. Thankkfully it had stopped bleeding by now and Dean carefully washed the blood away. The disinfecting it hurt the most, but Dean managed to get through the pain and tied actual bandages around the wound. Next was the gunshot wound on his thigh. Standing up, he slowly shimmed out of his pants and threw them to the ground next to him.

The wound on his leg was still bleeding slightly, and he wipped the blood away. After mending that wound, he slowly got to his feet and went to find clothes that weren't blood stained. Finding a pair of gray sweatpants that looked fresh enough to wear, Dean went back out by the fire to enjoy it a little more before he went back to bed. Grabbing a pistol from the bag he always kept close to him, Dean began his nightly checking and cleaning of the guns. Now that it was just him, the guns took longer to get through and he couldn't get through them all in one night, so he split them up and cleaned certain guns on certain nights.

He was halfway through the fourth gun when the fire became to small and dim to see anything. Quickly putting the gun back together from memory due to doing the same thing since he was eight, Dean packed all the guns back in the bag and kicked dirt into the embers of the fire before heading to the tent, carrying the bag of guns with him. He lay down on the sleeping bag in the tent, the guns right next to him and the demon killing knife and pistol under the pillow. Wrapping one hand around pistol, Dean fell asleep.

xXxXxXxX

_One second they were standing in the police station, doing their usual FBI gig, trying to get info on the case that they were currently working on, and the next second a man covered in blood stumbled through the doors, holding his neck and screaming bloody murder. Sam and Dean were the ones who moved first, acting on the instinct that always kicked in when they saw someone covered in blood, thanks to the years of hunting. Sam stood in front of the shaking man, putting both hands on his shoulders to keep him still and make him look at him._

_"Sir, can you tell us what happened?" Sam said, staring at the man's face. The man finally looked up at Sam and Dean saw the terrified look in his eyes. As soon as the man's eyes met Sam's, he started screaming again and tried to push him away, but Sam held strong. "Calm down, everything's okay. You're fine. Now tell us what happened, we can help."_

_Before the man could answer though, the door was thrown open again and another person stumbled in. Her hair was a rat's nest, dirty blonde locks knotted and sticking up in every direction. Her shirt and jeans were even more blood stained than the man's and angry wounds decorated her arms and shoulders, making it look like something, or someone, had bitten large chunks out of her. The woman's mouth was covered with blood and she reached her dirty hands towards the man, yanking him out of a surprised Sam's hands, and latched her teeth on his neck again. Pulling her head away, stings of muscles ripped as she took a chunk of neck out of the man, who then fell to the floor, no longer screaming nor moving. The woman looked from the dead man on the floor and to Sam before stumbling over the body and towards him._

_"Sam!" Dean yelled, reaching for his gun and firing at the woman before she could get any closer to his little brother. The bullet hit the woman in the shoulder and sent her stumbling back a little, but she recovered like she didn't even feel it and started towards Sam again. Dean fired again, this time hitting the woman in the chest, but it didn't do anything either. She just kept coming for Sam. Finally, Dean aimed for the head and squeezed the trigger. The bullet made impact in the center of the woman's forehead and she fell backwards onto the ground, not moving this time._

_"Dean, what the hell was that?" Sam finally said, staring at the two dead bodies that were in front of him._

_"I have no idea, Sammy," Dean breathed, feeling relief flood through him when he knew that his brother was safe again. Then there was the screams. Dean's feet moved before his mind realized it and he pushed the doors of the police station open. He froze as he stared at the absolute chaos that were the streets of the once peaceful town._

_"Dean, what's happening?" Sam said, coming to stand out next to Dean and stared at the scene in front of him._

_"I have no fucking idea," Dean replied. Someone that resembled the crazy chick in the police station noticed the brothers and began its stumbles towards them._

_Dean raised his gun and fired._

xXxXxXxX

He was woken by a noise outside the tent. Breathing hard, Dean stayed still and listened. Voices could be heard outside the tent and that was when he realized that someone has found his tent. Freezing, Dean stayed still as he heard the sound of his tent flap being unzipped. His hand tightened around the knife below his pillow, ready for someone to attack him.

"Looks like I found the person. It's a dude," the person who opened the tent called out, most likely to his friends. Thankfully Dean could tell by the voice that this wasn't someone from the farm, so he wouldn't feel bad about attacking them.

"Well, fucking kill him then. Just don't shoot, we don't want to alert anything," another man said from outside the tent. Dean heard the man inside huff and slowly move towards him. As soon as he was close enough, Dean acted.

Springing up and ignoring the pain that shot through his body, Dean plunged the knife into the chest of the man who was leaning over him. Dean met the man's wide eyes, but he simply twisted the knife. The man went still and Dean pulled the knife out, letting the man slump to the ground. Quietly getting to his feet, Dean cautiously walked to the open flap of the tent and peaked out. Two other men were rummaging through his things that were outside the tent, throwing things around that they didn't need. Slipping out of the tent silently, he made his way to the closest man. Moving like a snake, Dean wrapped his arm around the man's head and yanked it back, exposing his neck. The man started a yelp in surprise, but it was cut of when Dean ran his knife over the man's neck. The noise, unfortunantly, alerted the last man and he spun to look at Dean. He raised his gun.

"Bad move, bud," the man said, and Dean saw his finger tighten around the trigger. Dean was ready to moved when needed, but that never came.

Something dropped from the trees and onto the man, knocking him the the ground. The man screamed as the thing ripped into his back. Dean could only watch in a mixture of surprise and awe as the wendigo tore into the man. Once the man was still, the wendigo stood up and looked at Dean, the shadows almost hiding it. Dean tensed, waiting for the wendigo to come at him, but it never did. It just watched him before it climbed back back up the tree and disappeared into the tree tops. Dean could only watch in surprise at where the wendigo was just standing.

What the hell happened?

xXxXxXxX

Dean had seen the man when he was climbing up the side of the hill. He was covered in dirt, blood, and water. Even through all of the grime, Dean recognized the man from the farm, more specifically as the man that the wendigo wanted. He stopped his walk and watched the man climb. He could hear the man talking to something, and Dean prayed that the man hadn't gone crazy. When the man finally got to the top of the hill, he began limping through the trees. Dean followed closely behind, ready to help the man if he needed. As it turned out, he did. When the man stopped to lean against a tree, Dean saw him begin to sway and he finally moved forwards to help. He wrapped one arm around the man's waist to keep him from face planting into the ground. The man froze for only a moment before trying to get away from him, but he was too weak.

"Whoa, hold your horsed cowboy," Dean said. He gently lowered the man to the ground before sitting down across from him. He reajusted his flannel and Sam's shirt that he had found in his bag to hide the guns and knives that he had strapped to his waist.

"Who the hell are you?" the man said, his thick southern accent making him sound like the normal redneck. Dean had to bite the inside of his check to stop from smiling.

"It doesn't matter. I just happened to be walking by and saw that you needed help," Dean said. "Catch your breath and I'll help you back to your camp."

The man visibly tensed and he glared at Dean suspiciously. "How do you know I have a camp? Have you been watching me?"

Excuses instantly began to run in Dean's head and he laughed to buy some time to come up with some excuse. "No, I haven't, but you must have a camp somewhere because you have nothing on you, no backpack or food."

The man looked frustrated. "Well, I don't need ya fuckin' help."

Dean watched as the man tried to get to his feet, but saw him almost fall over again. Jumping to his feet, Dean wrapped his arms around the man again to keep him from falling. The man seemed to think for a moment before finally coming up with a decision, which he didn't look very happy about.

"Fine, I'll let ya help me, but we need ta get a few things set first," the man said angrily, and Dean nodded. "First, ya don't touch me unless I tell ya. Second, you leave me when I tell ya ta. Got it?"

"Yup," Dean said and flashed the man a brisk grin.

xXxXxXxX

Dean heard the gunshot as soon as he turned around. His heart jumped into his throat and Dean spun around and ran back to the edge of the forest. He saw the two men that he met in the woods help man to his feet, who looked unconscious. There was nothing for him to do but watch as the men drug the unconcious man back towards the farm.


	5. Chapter 5

There he was again, right back in the same damn bed that he was in when he first hurt himself. This time,though,it was because he stabbed himself with a god damned bolt and fucking Andrea shot him in the head. Daryl was, of course, still pissed about that, but he was just lucky that she was a horrible shot and the bullet only skimmed him. If anyone else had been dumb enough to take a shot at him, then he would probably be six feet under right now instead of laying in the comfy bed.

A few days had passed since the whole incident in the woods and Daryl was finally given the okay to move around. Now, though, because of his stupid mistake, he wasn't let out of anyone's sight. They always watched him and that only pissed him off. It made it harder to watch the thing on the other side of the fence with someone always watching him. The last thing he needed was the others (especially Shane) to find out about it and freak the hell out. Now he had to wait even later to make sure everyone was asleep to check on it. It was still there, like always.

"Why the hell won't ya leave already? There ain't nothin' here for ya," Daryl asked one night as he sat in his usual spot with his crossbow lain across his lap. The thing only cocked its head to the side again like a dog and just stared at him with its black eyes. It didn't surprise Daryl, already knowing that the thing couldn't talk or really seem to understand him. Daryl just grunted and leaned his back against the tree. "Whatever. Your choice."

"Who are you talking to, Daryl?" a voice said, causing Daryl to go tense and look up. He found Carol staring down at him, a blanket bundled in her hands. Rembering the thing on the other side of the fence, Daryl quickly snuck a glance towards it and was relieved to see that it had either hidden or left. Either way, it was gone and that was good enough for him. "Well?"

"I ain't talkin' to no one other than you," Daryl replied, moving over a little so Carol could sit on the tree stump. When she sat, she was careful not to touch Daryl, which he was thankful for. He really didn't feel like being touched right now. "What do ya want, woman?"

"I just noticed that you were sitting over here by your self and I wanted to bring you something to keep you warm," she said and held out the blanket that she had in her arms. Daryl stared at it, confused as to why someone was being nice to him. It's been obvious to him from day one that they all saw him an nothing but a dumb kick. He looked up at Carol and raised an eyebrow. Carol, seeing his ocnfusion, quickly said, "It's my way of saying thank you for what you're doing for Sophia. You're the only one other than me who still has hope that she's out there. I know the others all think she's dead and they're just looking for me."

"She's out there, Carol, and I fuckin' promise ya that I'll find ya little girl," Daryl said, and Carol couldn't help but smile at the determination that radiated from his voice. Tears welled in her eyes and she quickly wipped them away before Daryl could see them.

"Thank you Daryl, really," Carol whispered. She unfolded the blanket and carefully drapped it over his shoulders before standing up and walking away. As he watched her go, Daryl brought a hand up and gripped the edge of the blanket. A wheezing sound caught his attention and he looked back over at the fence to see the thing was back. He watched it, and after a few moments of studying it, he realized that the damned thing was laughing, or doing the closest thing it could do laughing, which was a dry wheezing sound.

"What the hell do ya think your laughing at, Freak?" Daryl demanded, and then smirked to himself. Freak. That'll be the things name from now on. It'll be a hell of a lot easier than calling it 'it', that's for sure. "Freak. You like the name? Well, too bad if ya don't, it's ya name from now on."

Freak tilted its head to the side and continued to stare at Daryl. He watched it back, and without thinking, shone the flashlight he had at it. Freak let out a shriek and stumbled away from the light, disappearing into the weeds. Daryl watched it with mild interest and was about to turn the flashlight back off when something caught his attention. Standing up, letting the forgotten blanket flutter to the ground, he walked over to the fence. Not paying attention to how close he was getting to it, Daryl got right up next to the wooden fence and crouched, pointing his flashlight at the ground. There, etched into the dirt and partially hidden by weeds, were symbols. Daryl couldn't make heads nor tails of what the hell they were, but he knew it wasn't a trick of him imagination. The weird drawings really were carved into the ground. He moved his head closer to the fence to get a better look at them, but froze when he felt it.

Hot breath. Trickling down the back of his neck.

The muscles in his arms tensed, and he felt all the blood run to his heart to make it race. Slowly, as to not to make any sudden movements, Daryl lifted his head, careful to keep the rest of his body unmoved. Those black eyes were mere inches from his and stared down at him from under the greasy locks of black hair. The pale skin moved as it opened its mouth slightly, showing off the two rows of razor sharp teeth. Daryl continued to stare at Freak, daring not to move out of instinct and, as much as he hated to admit it, fear. Freak stared back, its face inches from his, and then it closed its mouth and raised its eyebrows. Daryl watched it do this, and that was when he realized something. Just to make sure, he opened his mouth, and watched as Freak did the same. Yup, he was right. It was copying his facial expressions.

As slowly as he could, Daryl fell back on his ass and began moving away from the fence. Freak just watched him go, not getting off his perch on the fence. Once Daryl was far enough away from it, he slowly stood. As he watched Freak, Daryl's mind went back to the man in the woods who had helped him. Even though he hadn't voiced it, Daryl knew the man had been lying when he said that he didnt' know where his camp was. Daryl wasn't stupid, and he certainly wasn't oblivious. He had noticed the dim, almost hidden, light coming from jsut inside the line of trees across the field. He could only guess that was where the man made camp, and he was the most likely one to know what the hell this thing is, and what the hell those scribbles in the dirt are.

He made up his mind almost immedianly. Daryl was going to go pay the man a visit.

xXxXxXxX

It was surprisingly easy to get out of camp. All he said was that he was going crazy being cooped up for so long and that he needed to go hunting. Seeing as to how he was their best hunter and they were running out of meat, they graciously let him go. Rick had tried to convince him to let someone go with him, but Daryl threatened that if anyone went with him then it wouldn't be himself that would get shot by a bolt next time. Rick quickly got the message and stopped bugging him.

Daryl had found the camp pretty easily. It was closer to the house than he thought it was. Rocks were pilled around the fire ring to hide the flames, and the red tent sat not far from it. Gripping his crossbow securely in his hands, Daryl crept closer to the tent. He could hear soft snoring coming from within the tent and was glad that whoever inside wasn't an early riser. As quietly as he could, he slowly unzipped the tent flap and stuck the end of his crossbow in before moving to peer inside. A backpack and large dufflebag sat next to a sleeping bag, which had a shock of hair sticking out one end.

Daryl took a cautious step inside the tent and was about to poke the sleeping bag with his crossbow when it suddenly moved. A leg shot out from the bottom and moved too fast for Daryl to follow, sweeping his legs out from under him and sending him falling to the ground, halfway out of the tent. Instinct kicked in and Daryl made an attempt to climb to his feet, but a heavy weight on his chest provented him from doing so and the cold pressure of a knife pressed against his neck made him freeze. Daryl fixed his eyes on the man from before, who was now straddling his chest and pressing a wicked looking knife to his throat, keeping him in place. Daryl thought about his crossbow that was still in his hands, but the man must have also because his eyes flickered to it and, using his empty hand, got it out of his hand with surpising strength.

"What do you think you're doing?" the man said. Daryl had expected to hear some sort of anger or surprise in the man's voice, but there was none. It was like he was amused by Daryl's attempt to surprise him and that only pissed Daryl off even more. When he didn't answer, the man pressed the knife only a fraction harder, and that was when Daryl realized that he had no intent to hurt him. "Are you going to answer my question or are we going to stay like this? I got all day."

Daryl ground his teeth together angrily. No one had pinned him down in years and the position only brought back memories. He could hear Merle's voice now: _Ya really are a pussy, lil' brotha. Can't even sneak up on some fag in the woods._ Daryl glared up at the man, but dare not move. He had no idea if this dude had his whole mind or not.

"Ya lied. Said ya didn't know where my camp was," Daryl hissed at him through clenched teeth. The man smirked.

"Yeah, I'm pretty damn good at it. Me and my brother are probably the world's best liers," the man said, and Daryl thought that he saw the man's smirk falter slightly and turn into something sad, but it was gone as quick as it happened. The man regained his composure. "But that still doesn't answer my question."

"Just wanted ta come ask ya a few questions, and ta warn ya ta stay the hell away from us," Daryl said. The man looked a little taken aback, but then he leaned away from Daryl and got to his feet. Daryl quickly scrambled all the way out of the tent and grabbed his crossbow before standing up. The man ducked out of the tent and now the two of them were standing face-to-face. Daryl noticed the knife strapped to the man's belt.

"Well, what are you're questions? No promises that I'll be able to answer them," the man asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Ya were the one who scribbled them weird drawings around the farm," Daryl said, his body still tensed. Just cause the man didn't slit his throat didn't mean that he trusted him.

"That wasn't a question, but yeah, I am," the man said with a chuckle. "How do you know about those?"

"Saw 'em last night. I'm also assuming that ya know what the hell that thing is that's been having one hell of a time stalking me," Daryl said. He visably saw the man tense when he mention Freak.

The man mutters something too quietly for Daryl to hear, but then he said, "So, you do watch it every night."

"Yeah, and it's the creepiest fuckin' thing that I've ever seen. Wasn't too fond of the light," Daryl said, snorting at the memory of how Freak had made a hasity getaway from the flashlight the night before. "Since ya seem ta know more 'bout Freak than I do, I want ya to come make sure the camp is face from him. The last thing we need is that think ta get inside."

"I'm pretty damn sure you're all safe, but I'll come take a quick look anyways. Hold right here a minute," the man ducked back in the tent, leaving Daryl to stand alone in the center of his little camp. The man reamerged from the tent, pulling on an oversized flannel similar to the one he had first seen him in. Daryl's eyes traveled down the the bandaged wrapped around the man's body and the angry looking bruises that painted the skin. Damn, looked like it hurt. Daryl watched the man strap his knife to his waist and tuck a gun in the back of his pants. Then he looked up and caught Daryl's eyes. "Well, we gonna go or not?"  
Daryl snorted and turned away from the man. He could hear him following him, and then the man said, "I'm Dean, by the way. You got a name that I could call you or should I use Hick?" When Daryl didn't answer, the Dean shrugged. "Well, nice to meet you, Hick."

"Daryl," Daryl growled, resisting the urge to turn and shoot the man in the face.

"There, that wasn't hard," Dean said, walking next to Daryl. After that, neither man talked, which was just fine for Daryl. He enjoyed the peace and quiet. The form of someone sitting on top of the RV, most likely Dale, formed in Daryl's sight as they got closer to the fence. Luckily, no one was around or paying attention to them so it wasn't very difficult to get Dean close to the fence.

"This is where I always see it," Daryl said once they got to the spot. He's never been here in the day and now he could see where Freak had always paced. The grass and weeds were flattened almost perfectly, and he spotted the remains of a few small animals hidden around them, most likely from Freak. Daryl watched Dean warily and carefully as the man knelt down by the scribbles in the dirt. Dean sat there silently, studying the drawings. Then Daryl saw Dean's eyebrows come together and he looked up, meeting Daryl's gaze with one full of confusion, shock, and, was that fear?

"How close has the wedigo been to the fence?" Dean asked, his voice serious, the most serious that Daryl's heard it since they've met. His tone of voice sent shivers down Daryl's back and he knew something wasn't right. Something bad has happened.

The last few day, and before I met ya in the woods, it was right on the other side of the fence, so close that I coulda reached out and touched it. Not that I ever wouls." Daryl said the last part quietly. Then he saw Dean's eyes widen slightly. "And last night, I waved my flashlight at it, and when it ran away, I noticed the scribbles and moved closer to the fence. Next thing I knew, the fuckin' think was sittin' on top of the fence and breathing down my neck. Why the hell does it matter how close it got?"

Dean's eyes widened even more, and Daryl realized that he's said something to seriously freak the man out. Dean looked back down at the scribbles and ran his finger lightly over a symbol. He muttered something again and then looked back up at Daryl. "These symbols are used to keep a wendigo from crossing them. When I first found the farm, I drew them all around it to keep the wendigo from getting in and killing everyone."

"Then how the hell did it get across them?" Daryl snapped, feeling his heart pick up slightly.

"Some of the symbols have been wipped away," Dean said. "Which means that the wedigo could have gotten into your camp at anytime."

It felt like a bucket of cold water had been dumped on Daryl and he stood frozen. The words that Dean had said swam around in his head and he couldn't help but realize that he could have been killed at anytime while he sat watching the thing. But one question kept popping up: If Freak could have gotten in at anytime, then why hasn't he?

Daryl opened his mouth to ask Dean, but someone else cut him off. "And what the hell do we have here? Daryl, I thought you knew better than to bring an outsider here."

Daryl saw Dean look up and tense, his whole body going ridged and rage burned in his eyes. Daryl looked from Dean and to the other person standing on the other side of the fence, gun pointed down at Dean.

Shane Walsh was staring down at Dean and smiling like a fucked up kid in a candy store.


	6. Chapter 6

Surprised didn't even come close to what Dean was feeling when he found himself straddling the guy he saved from the camp, holding a knife to his throat. The man below him darted his eyes to the left and Dean followed them. The crossbow was still in his hand and Dean saw the man's fingers twitch, letting him know exactly what he was planning on doing. Leaving the demon knife pressed firmly against his throat, Dean used his other hand to knock the crossbow from the man's hand. The man instintally fixed his glare back on him.

"What do you think you're doing?" Dean asked. He wasn't angry at all, or even pissed. It's been too long since someone had tried to sneak up on him when he was sleeping and he had just started to feeling himself getting rusty. Apparently he wasn't as bad as he thought, seeing how he had woken up as soon as he had heard the zipper of the tent slowly open. When the man didn't answer, Dean pressed the knife only a little harder, but still didn't hurt him. "Are you going to answer my question or are we going to stay like this? I got all day."

"Ya lied. Said ya didn't know where my camp was," the man angrily hissed. He was as still as a statue, but Dean could tell it wasn't from fear. Something had made it common sense to this man not to move while a knife was held against his throat. It did surprise Dean though that he had found out that he knew where his camp was and he smirked.

"Yeah, I'm pretty damn good at it. Me and my brother are probably the world's best liers," Dean said, his mind wandering back to the times when the only things the two brothers had to worry about was not getting killed on a hunt and not to get caught in their famous FBI lies. The memory of the good ol' times brought the thought of Sam back from the back on Dean's mind and he felt his smile falter as he thought of his younger brother. Dean pushed the thought of Sam back into the locked box it was from and quickly regained his posture, like it had never happened. "But that still doesn't answer my question."

"Just wanted ta come ask ya a few questions, and ta warn ya ta stay the hell away from us," the man said, surprising Dean a little. What questions did he have to ask him? Dean easily leaned away from the man and got to his feet, strapping the knife to his belt. Dean watched as the man quickly scrambled out of the tent, grabbed his crossbow, and got to his feet. As soon as the man was out of the way, Dean exited the tent to stand face-to-face with the man.

"Well, what are your questions?" Dean asked and crossed his arms over his chest. He was curious. "No promises that I'll be able to answer them."

"Ya were the one that scribbled them weird drawings around the fence," the man said straight forward. Dean noticed that he was still tense, and his crossbow was clutched tightly in his hands.

Dean's eyes widened a fraction in surprise. "That wasn't a question, but yeah, I am. How do you know about those?"

"Saw 'em last night. I'm also assuming that ya know what the hell that thing is that's having one hell a time stalking me," said the man. Dean tensed at the mention of the wendigo and the man clearly saw that.

"Well fucking hell," Dean muttered as quietly as he could. Just what he needs. Looking back up at the man, Dean said louder, "So, you do watch it every night."

"Yeah, and it's the creepiest fuckin' thing that I've ever seen. Wasn't too fond of the light," the man said, a snort coming out of his nose. "Since ya seem ta know more 'bout Freak than I do, I want ya ta come make sure the camp is safe from him. The last thing we need is that thing ta get inside."

"I'm pretty damn sure that you're all safe, but I'll come take a quick look anyways. Hold right here for a minute," Dean said and turned away from the man. He ducked back into the tent and grabbed a random shirt. He also made sure to grab a pistol and tucked it into the the back of his waistband. He exited the tent, pushing his arm through the sleeve and began to button it up. Dean noticed the man quickly glance over the bandages and bruises on his body, and he was happy that the bandages covered most of the scares that decorated his chest and torso. Their eyes met and Dean asked, "Well, we gonna go or not?" The man snorted at him and turned away to begin the walk back to the farm. Dean quickly followed him. "I'm Dean, by the way. You got a name that I can call you or should I use Hick?" The man didn't answer. "Fine, nice to meet you, Hick."

"Daryl," the man said, sounding frustrated. Dean smiled in triumph. He had always been able to get what he wanted out of people by being annoying. Sam had called it a curse and Bobby had called it a gift. Who knew which one of them was right.

"There, that wasn't hard," Dean said and joined Daryl at his side. When Daryl didn't respond, Dean simply shrugged and remained silent. The weeds twisted around their legs and Dean watched his surroundings closely. Dean saw the person sitting on top of the RV, and when he didn't turned towards them, Dean figured that Daryl hadn't told anyone about him. They will both be in trouble if anyone found them.

"This is where I always see it," Daryl said, stopping so suddenly that Dean almost ran right into him. The grass and weeds in front of where Daryl had stopped were matted flat down to almost perfection. The remains of some small animals were hidden in the tall grass around the spot. Apparently the wendigo brought its food here and ate it as it paced.

Dean could feel Daryl's eyes on his back as he knelt down by where he knew he had drawn the symbols. He carefully moved some grass from the symbols and was surprised at what he saw. Although at first glance the symbols looked to be intact, they weren't. The few by this part of the fence were broken, parts of them wiped away by something or someone. Dean knew that the wendigo couldn't have done it, so what the hell happened. Then the shock set in. If the symbols weren't complete, then that means the group in the farm hadn't been safe in a while.

"How close has the wendigo been to the fence?" Dean asked, meeting Daryl's gaze.

"The last few days and before I met ya in the woods, it was right on the other side of the fence, so close that I coulda reached out and touched it. Not that I ever would," Daryl told him and Dean's eyes widened. So his suspisions were right. "And last night I waved my flashlight at it and when it ran away I noticed the scribbles and moved closer to the fence. Next thing I knew, the fuckin' thing was sittin' on top of the fence and breathing down my neck. Why the hell does it matter how close it gets?"

It matteres because he did NOT draw the symbols that close to the fence, which meant that they had been ruined days ago. Dean looked back down at the symbols and ran a finger over one, messing it up even more. "Shit. These symbols are used to keep a wendigo from crossing them. When I first found the farm, I drew them all around it to keep the wendigo from getting in and killing everyone."

"Then how the hell didit get across them?" Daryl demanded.

"Some of the symbols have been wiped away," Dean replied. "Which means that the wendigo could have gotten into your camp at anytime."

Dean saw Daryl freeze instantly. He knew exactly what the redneck was thinking because it was exactly what he was thinking. If the wendigo could have gotten in the camp at anytime, then why the hell didn't?

"And what the hell do we have here? Daryl, I thought you knew better than to bring an outsider here."

Dean went tense when he heard the familier voice. The last time he heard it was in the woods when the man who it had belonged to was beating the shit out of him. The gunshot wounds seemed to throb at the memorty of the incident. Dean slowly raised his head and found a gun pointed between his eyes, but that wasn't what he was looking at. His eyes met the eyes of the mad man from the woods.

"Shane," Daryl warned, his body tensing up even more. Dean ignored Daryl and slowly got to his feet, the pistol following so it was still pointed at his head when he was standing at full height.

"Why the hell is this guy here?" Shane asked, looking briefly at Daryl, but quickly looked back at Dean, who glared back at him.

"I don't want any trouble. Daryl just asked my help with something and when I'm done with that I'll leave. I won't even repay you for the nice beating that you gave me in the woods," Dean said, not bothering to keep the anger out of his voice. As he stared at Shane, the first thing he wondered was if the man was possessed by a demon, but since he didn't give any sign that he had any idea who Dean was other than the man who was following them in the woods, he highly doubted it. The Winchesters had made quite the name for themselves, not a single demon nor angel not knowing their names.

"That ain't happening. Drop your weapons and climb over the fence. If you don't, I'll shoot you right now," Shane growled, holding his gun steady. Dean ground his teeth together, but he knew the man wasn't lying. This wasn't the first time the man had killed a person, and Dean didn't want risk it. As slowly as he could, Dean pulled his gun from his waistband and tossed it at Daryl's feet. He didn't bother to take the knife off, since his large shirt was covering it. Daryl bent down to pick up Dean's gun, and sent him a look. Dean knew Daryl had seen his knife back at is camp, but he was thankful that he didn't say anything about it. Apparently he hated Shane too.

Carefully, Dean climbed over the fence, refusing to wince when his stitches pulled taunt against his skin. Shane moved to the side and motioned for Dean to walk in front of him. He sent the man one last glare before continued further into the camp. The barrel of the gun was only inches from his back as Shane lead him towards the old farm house. The people outside stopped what they were doing and watched Shane escort him him into the house.

"Shane, what is this?" someone said, the screen door slamming shut behind them. Shane pushed Dean fowards into the center of the room, where he spun around to face the other people in the woods. The man who had spoken was an old guy, even older than Bobby, and had white hair. A woman with short brown hair, an Asian kid, another old guy with a hat, a skinny woman, the other man from the woods, and Daryl had all entered the house. Dean saw a blonde haired woman push her way up to the front of the group to look at him.

"Found the man outside the fence with Daryl," Shane said, lowering his gun slightly when the other man from the woods stopped next to him. "Me and Rick found him in the woods a couple days ago following us."

"Yeah, and then you shot me and beat the hell out of me," Dean sneered at the man, who snapped his attention back to him.

"Daryl, who is this man?" the old man with the hat asked. Dean turned to look at him and the rest of the people.

"He helped me when I shot myself in the woods. If it weren't for him then I'd probably be walker food by now," Daryl admitted. "I needed his help with somethin' and then Shane came. That's all that happened."

"What did you need his help with?" the blonde woman asked. Dean didn't miss the glare that Daryl sent the woman.

"Ain't none of your business," Daryl snapped at her.

"What your mouth, you fucking redneck," Shane warned Daryl.

"Fucking make me," Daryl said back, going ridged. For a minute it looked like Shane actually was going to attack the man, but the first old man stopped him.

"Enough! I will not have fighting in my house," the old man said, eyeing both men. Dean chuckled at the look Shane got, and recieved a surprise kick in the ribs from the man. Dean doubled over and the shot on his side burned. He held his bruised stomach, and felt the riped stitches under his fingers. He swallowed and struggled to stand back up. He brought his hand away from his side and saw it slicked with blood. The old man saw it and stepped forwards.

"Stay away from him, Hershel. He's dangerous," Shane warned, trying to stop the old man from moving, but he simply shook him off.

"You will not tell me what to do in my own home, son. That man is hurt and I intend to help him," the old man, Hershel said. Dean couldn't help but smile at the tough old man. Hershel joined Dean by his side. "Where are you hurt?"

"Shot in the side. The stitches must have pulled when he kicked me," Dean said. The old man nodded.

"Follow me," Hershel said and tried to push his way through the group of people with Dean behind him, but this time it was Rick who stopped them.

"Hershel, I don't think this is a good idea either. We don't know anything about this man," Rick said, and Dean glared at him.

"I took you, your boy, and the rest of your group in without knowing you just because your boy was injured. This man is injured and I plan on doing the same thing for him," Hershel said. The old man's stubbornness reminded Dean of Bobby.

"This is different. We dont' even know his name!" the blonde haired woman said.

"Dean Winchester. Nice ta meet you," Dean said, giving the woman his dazziling smile. Honestly, he had no interest in the woman whatsoever, but he felt like he needed to smile at her.

"Did you say Winchester?" Hershel asked, turning to look at Dean. Confusion ran through his head, but Dean nodded. "Do you know a John Winchester?"

"Yeah, he's my dad," Dean said, surprised that the man knew his father. He was curious how they knew each other, and he only hoped that they liked each other.

"Do you know his dad?" the Asian kid said, talking for the first time.

"Yes. I owe him my life," Hershel said. "Where is you father? Is he with you somewhere?"

"No, he isn't," Dean said, his mind flashing back to the hospital years earlier. "He died in a car crash a few years ago. My brother and I survived, but he didn't."

"I'm sorry for your lose," the man said, patting Dean on the shoulder. "Follow me. I'll look at yout stitches."

Dean followed the man through the group of people, who parted for them this time. Hershel made Dean take off his shirt and sit in one of the chairs in the kitchen. The man grabbed a first aid kit from under the sink and after making sure no one was evedropping, came back to Dean. Using a pair of scissors, Hershel carefully cut the bandaged from his side. Dean looked down and saw that sure enough, the stitches had riped.

"I'll need to take these out and restitch the wound. Did you do this yourself?" Hershel asked, dugging on one of the stitches. Dean nodded. "You did a pretty good job. I'm assuming that this wasn't the first time that you had to do this."

"If you don't mind me asking, how do you know my old man?" Dean asked, his curiosity getting the best of him. He wanted to know the story.

"Like I said before, your father saved my life. I met him a long time ago, before any of my children were born. I had some trouble with something called a wendigo back then and your father helped me with it. I appreciated what your father did," the old man said. "I'm guessing that you know about what your father did."

"All too well," he said, nodding once again. He flinched when Hershel began to restitch his wound. "Daryl needed my help because it looks like you're having another problem with a wendigo."

Hershel froze and looked up. "What? Another one?"

"Yup, but don't worry, it's all taken care of. The wedigo isn't planning on hurting anyone. If it wanted, it would have already," Dean said, and Hershel relaxed, turning back to stitching the wound.

"What are you going to do when you leave?" the man said.

"Probably go back to my camp. I heard that they were looking for a little girl. I'll keep an eye out for them," he said.

"You can't go back on your own with wounds like this. I'm assuming that this isn't your only bullet wound, if Shane did this to you. The bruises on your body will make it hard to move and protect yourself also," Hershel said, leaning back when he was done.

"What am I supposed to do, stay here? I don't think they'll like that very much," Dean said, doubt filling his voice.

"This is my home and I get to decide who stays here. You the son of a friend of mine and you're injured. You will stay here," Hershel said, and Dean realized that there was no arguing with the man. He seemed like the person who once he made up his mind, there was no changing it. Dean smiled.

"Thank you. I appreciate it," Dean said. Hershel stood up and packed the things back in the first aid kit, leaving the bandages out.

"I'll go out and tell the others that you're planning on staying for a while. You can rebandage yourself and get dressed," the man said. He walked back out into the living room, letting the door slam behind him.

Dean carefully grabbed the bandages and wrapped them around his torso again. He was careful not to wrap them too tightly around his bruises. Once he was all bandaged up, Dean pulled the shirt back on and carefully buttoned it back up. He pulled himself out of the chair and towards the door. The first thing he saw when he walked into the living room was the angry look on Shane's face.

Dean smiled widely in amusement.


	7. Chapter 7

What were the odds that Hershel knew the man's, Dean, old man?

Daryl watched the old farmer lead the man into the kitchen to fix his stitches that Shane had popped when he kicked him. Daryl slid is eyes towards the ex-policeman and a small smirk played on his lips when he saw the flaming hot anger plastered on Shane's face. Anything that pissed the dick off was good in Daryl's book (minus walkers, of course), and he liked to see the man frustrated, especially when there was nothing he could do. Shane had made his life a living hell, more than it already was, because he thought him and Merle were no good redneck filth. And he wasn't the only one. Daryl could see it in everyone's eyes when they look at him that they don't trust him and think that he'll disappear on them one day. Everyone except Carol, but that was only because he was the one doing the most work finding her little girl.

"This is all your fault, redneck dirt," Shane growled, spinning to turn his frustration of Daryl. The crossbow was slung over his back and Dean's gun was tucked safely next to his, but Daryl's hand moved to hover over his hunting knife. Shane stalked over to Daryl and gripped the front of his shirt in his hand. Daryl's survival instincts kicked in and he struggled against Shane's hold on him. His breath picked up and his body remembered what used to happen when his father held him like this. It usually meant a few extra scars were added to his large collection. Daryl finally pushed Shane off him and finally pulled out his hunting knife, holding it in front of him for protection.

"Don't ever touch me again," Daryl growled at him, narrowing his eyes. He didn't bother to fix his breathing, instead just letting it come out of his mouth in shakey breaths. His eyes never left Shane's. "I needed his help and that's that. Ain't nothin' ya can do 'bout it."

"Alright, everyone calm down. We don't know this man, but Hershel seemed to be okay with the man's father, so maybe he's okay," Rick said, finally stepping in to try to defuse the situation. Daryl slid his eyes over to the man.

"Rick, you can't honestly be thinking about letting that man stay here with us. We don't know anything about him. For all we know he could be a killer and I do not want a man like that around Carl!" Lori shrieked, stepping forwards. Daryl had to do everything in his will power not to cover his ears when the woman spoke. He didn't like Lori, mostly because she was the second one, right behind Shane, who looked down on him the most and honestly, he hated cheaters. His father had cheated on his mother when she was still alive and Daryl had memorized the look of a cheater and he saw that look when Lori looked at Shane or Rick. Rick was a good guy, a hell of a lot better than Shane, and Daryl had no idea why Lori would pick Shane over Rick. Whatever, he didn't care. Women were way to confusing.

"I'm just saying that he doesn't seem like a bad guy and since this is Hershel's home, we may have to learn to live with the man if Hershel decides to let him stay," Rick explained, looking at Lori. "I know you don't like it, but we may just have to deal with it. Anyways, Carl is recovered and can defend himself if something happens."

Lori opened her mouth to say something, but Hershel interrupted her when he walked back into the living room from the kitchen. Daryl was relieved that he came in when he did. Lori's shrieking can rival Freak's.

"I have decided to let Dean stay here while he recovers. It only seems far since one of your people were the one that hurt him and I need to repay his father for saving me and my family," Hershel said and an uproar immidiately followed his words. Everyone who had something to say against the man's decision spoke all at once, but Daryl kept silent. Hershel waited for everyone to quiet down before he talked again, "I know a lot of you are against it, but this in my home and it is my decision. But I can tell you that, if Dean is anything like his father, he is rough around the edges but means well."

Almost as if on que, the kitchen door opened again and Dean walked out. Daryl found himself looking at the man and saw that his flannel wasn't all the way buttoned up, showing off his throat and part of his bandage covered chest. There was also the hint of black ink of a tattoo on his chest, half hidden underneath the bandages. Daryl watched as the man looked around at the people and finally stopped when he locked eyes with the angry Shane. Dean smiled at him, and succeeded on making Shane even more angry.

"If you ever think of doing anything that will hurt anyone here at the camp, you will regret it," Shane warned before turning and pushing his way through the group and out the door. No one tried to stop him.

"So, uh, since it looks like I'll be here for awhile, I might need my gear. Does anyone want to help me get it?" Dean asked, obviously uncomfortable with the attention that was on him.

"Yeah, Glenn, Daryl and I will help you," Rick said and held his hand out to Dean. "I'm Rick, by the way."

"Dean." Dean shook Rick's hand.

"Hey, I'm sorry about what happened in the woods before. If there's anything I can do to make it up to you, just let me know," Rick said when he let go of Dean's hand.

"Don't worry about it. I've had worse," Dean replied, smiling faintly at Rick to let him know that there were no hard feelings between them. "Anyways, it was Shane who did it, not you. There's to reason for you to do anything for me."

"So, are we going to go get your stuff or not?" Glenn spoke up.

"Oh yeah, sorry. I have my things at my camp and then I have a car just up the road from here," Dean said.

"We'll get yer stuff from yer camp first and then someone'll drive ya ta get yer car," Daryl said, stepping forwards and holding Dean's gun out to him. Dean grabbed it and smiled at Daryl.

"Let's get going then," Dean said and followed the others out of the house. Daryl could see that Lori had wanted to say something to Rick, but Rick walked right passed her without even looking at the woman.

Dean lead the way back to his camp, careful to avoid where Freak usually stalked Daryl. Luckily Dean's camp was still untouched and it didn't take long for them to pack things up. Since Dean's wounds disabled him from taking his tent down, Daryl and Rick did that as Glenn helped him pack up anything that sat outside. The clean up went pretty quickly and soon they were heading back to the farm, all of Dean's things in divided up in their arms. They had decided to drop the things off in a room in the house to keep anyone from looking through them when Dean went to get his car.

Daryl was stuck taking the man to his car, which he wasn't happy about. Daryl would rather be doing something else, anything, but here he was, stuck driving the Greene's old truck down the road with Dean next to him. It was a pretty clear that Daryl was going to be the one to drive him since he was the only one who somewhat knew Dean and who didn't want him dead. They drove in silence, Daryl looking at the road and Dean looking through his window.

"Here. Stop here," Dean suddenly said, his voice making Daryl jump slightly. He as getting too used to the silence and when Dean suddenly spoke it scared him, making Daryl want to hit himself. Daryl pulled the truck to the side of the road and Dean jumped out. Daryl stayed put in the truck as Dean disappeared into the woods. The air in the cab was tense as Daryl waited for any sign that Dean was okay. After a few minutes of silence, Daryl was starting to think that a walker got him, but then he heard it. The purr of a classic car. Daryl watched as the black car emerged from the trees and drove onto the road, stopping next to the truck, but facing back the way they came. The '67 Chevrolet Impala was slick black and in near perfect condition. Daryl had never seen the model, even when he worked as a mechanic, but he knew he liked them. The window rolled down and Dean was smiling at Daryl.

"We going back or what?" Dean asked and Daryl snorted. Putting the truck into drive, Daryl drove further up the road so he could turn back around. Dean was waiting for him and let him lead the way back to the farm. The purr of the classic engine brought everyone's attention to them as they pulled back down the road towards the farm and stopped. Daryl shut the truck off and hopped out, tossing the keys back to Hershel. "Thanks."

"Rick, that car will draw every walker to us!" Lori shrieked from the crowd that had formed around Daryl, Dean, and the Impala. Daryl resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Don't worry, woman, I'm not planning on driving this car unless I really need to. It's a bitch to fill up anyways," Dean said, smiling at Lori, who only turned redder with anger. She looked towards her husband for help, but he didn't even look at her.

"That's a pretty impressive car. It's in good shape too," Dale said, pushing his way through the crowd to get a better look at the Impala. Daryl saw Dean beam proudly.

"Got her from my old man. I had to rebuild her more times than I would like to admit, but I gotta make sure she's in good shape," Dean said, patting the hood on the car affectionatly. "Got my brother and me through a lot. So, where can I put up my tent?"

No one spoke up and Daryl saw Dean deflat slightly. It was obvious that no one trusted him enough to let him set up his tent next to theirs. Daryl huffed and elbowed Dean in the side, careful of his wounds. "Ya can come set yer tent next ta mine, but if ya piss me off yer on ya own."

"Got you," Dean said, the smile reappearing on his face.

It didn't take long to get all of Dean's things to the mini camp that Daryl had made for himself away from the others. This time no one else helped them so it was up to the two men to get the tent set up. It was frustrating to say the least. Dean kept messing up his side of the tent and could bend down to get the poles through their respected holes, his torso hurting him too much. He also couldn't raise one of his arms up passed his head because of the wound in his shoulder. Daryl kept yelling and scolding him, and evenutally got to fed up with the man that he made Dean go sit down so he could finish setting the tent up himself. The whole thing took way too long and by the time they were done it was getting dark.

"You start the fire. I'll look to see what I got to eat," Dean said and grabbed a backpack and his dufflebag. Daryl had rolled another thick piece of cut wood for a seat for Dean by the fire, right across from his identical seat. Daryl piled his campfire with wood from the pile he had made next to his tent and stuck crumbled up pieces of paper from old books in the spaces between the wood. Then he tried to find his lighter. He patted his vest and pants, but couldn't find his lighter anywhere. He growled, but something was stuck into his eye line. Dean was holding a silver lighter out to him. Daryl quickly grabbed it with a mumbled 'Thanks' and went to work lighting the fire. Luckily it took right away and Daryl tossed Dean back his lighter, which he caught and pocketed.

"Here, I hope you like baked beans," Dean said and held out a can of beans to Daryl, keeping the second can for himself. Daryl nodded and grabbed the can, stabbing his knife in the top of the tin can before setting it just inside the fire. Dean did the same. As they waited for their food to cook, Daryl took out his rag and began cleaning his crossbow. A movement from across the fire caught his attention and he looked up. Dean had opened his dufflebag and took out another pistol and a rag. Daryl watched as Dean took the gun apart and began cleaning the seperate parts like an expert.

Daryl quickly looked away and finished cleaning his weapon. Hunger knawed at his stomach and, wrapping his rag around his hand, reached down to grab his can of beans. The tin was hot and Daryl used his knife to finish cutting the top off.

"Here, this may work better than using your hands." Daryl looked up again to see Dean holding out a spoon to him. He had also grabbed his food and had opened it, proabably the same way Daryl had. Daryl snatched the spoon from Dean's outstreatched hand and jammed it into the beans. He stuck a spoonfull into his mouth and chewed. The beans were still hot and burned the inside of his mouth, but Daryl ingored it, his stomach drawing all his attention. When he was halfway through the can, Daryl noticed Dean was watching him.

"The hell are you starin' at?" Daryl demanded, swallowing the beans that were in his mouth. He hated when people watched him do anything, even eat. Merle used to make fun of the way he ate and it made him hate eating in front of people.

"Sorry. My brother used to scold me 'cause of the way I ate. I was just thinking what he would do if he saw the way you eat," Dean said with a smile and turned back down to look at his beans. He shoved a spoonful into his mouth.

"You've mention this brotha of yers a few times. Where is he?" Daryl asked, also he had a feeling that he already knew the answer.

"He, uh, he didn't make it." Dean's voice was quiet when he talked and Daryl knew exactly what he was feeling. He's going through the same thing with Merle now and a similar thing whenever Merle would be sent off to jail or juvie. The feeling of not knowing if he would come back or not. The feeling of loneliness.

"I get ya. I don't have a fuckin' idea where my brotha is right now," Daryl said and Dean looked back up at him. "Rick handcuffed him ta a roof in Antlanta and left him there. We went back for him, but the bastard don't know patience. He cut his own hand off and got away."

"Do you think he's still alive?" Dean asked.

"Fuck if I know, but he's one tough bastard. No one can kill Merle 'cept Merle," Daryl said. He had a feeling that this was getting a little personal and Daryl wasn't one to talk about feelings. If this went anywhere except a simply talk about dead brothers, then he was out.

"Sammy was younger than me. My dad made me take care of him while he was out, uh, working. It was my job to protect him and keep him safe. Leave it up to me to screw everything up," Dean whispered, looking back down at his beans. He stirred the spoon in the dark liquid and didn't look up. Daryl couldn't help but see Merle in the man across the fire from him. Sure, this man didn't seem like a violent, racist, sexist drugie who liked to take his frustrations out on the closest thing to him, but the since of family was the same. Daryl remembered Merle watching over him whenever he was home and protecting him from their old man if he got to drunk or violent and decided to use Daryl as a punching bag. The man across from the fire protected his little brother the same Merle had protected him.

"Fuck, enough of this sappy shit. Merle'll be punching me if he saw me like this," Daryl suddenly said, breaking the silence that he hadn't noticed had formed. Dean looked up and watched as Daryl stood up and kicked dirt over the small fire to put it out. He left his empty can on the ground. He hadn't noticed how late it had gotten. The others were probably asleep by now. "Freak should be out there by now. Since now I know that it can get in whenever it wants, I wanna get there soon."

"Freak?" Dean asked, his attitude changing almost immediately, surprising Daryl.

"Yeah, that thing out there. It's here so much I just figured that it needed a name. Freak sure as hell beats calling it 'it'. Why, ya got a problem with that?" Daryl asked, glaring at the man.

"No, I'm just surprised," he said, smiling at him and standing up, throwing his pistol into his dufflebag and dropping his empty tin can to the ground. "I've never heard of someone naming a wendigo befored?"

"Wendigo?" Daryl asked confused, bending his head slightly to the side.

"Yeah, that's what Freak," Dean smirked at the name, "is. They're creatures that were once human but turned into, well, what you saw when they start to eat humans. Usually they're up in the woods of Minnesota and Canada, so I was surprised to see a couple down here, but I guess it isn't too surprising. People will eat anything to stay alive I guess."

"Great, so I'm being stalked by some fuckin' supernatural thing. Fuckin fantastic," Daryl groaned. Dean laughed.

"Trust me, it ain't as bad as you think. You kinda get used to it," he said.

"Well, I'm not crazy like ya, so I don't think I'll ever get used ta it," Daryl said, glancing at the man. "C'mon, let's go.'

Dean stood up to follow Daryl, but froze. Daryl saw his body go as still as a statue, and an unreadable expression washed over his face. Daryl knew something was wrong, and he slowly turned around towards the rest of the dark camp that sat what seemed like so far away from them right now. The only like was that of the small lamp on top of the RV for whoever was on guard duty that night.

At first Daryl didn't see anything. Staring at the fire had made his eyes accustomed to the light, so it took a few moments to adjust back to the darkness, but when he did, he saw exactly what had made Dean go so still. Fear coursed through is body and his mind seemed to have gone blank, the crossbow long forgotten in his hands. The eyes stared back at him.

Freak was crouched close to the ground, between their small camp and the main camp.

Inside the fence.


	8. Chapter 8

The first thing that popped into Dean's head was to reach for some sort of weapon. He had the demon knife and a pistol on him at the moment, and Daryl had his crossbow. Together they could probably take the wendigo down, or wound it enough to be able to set it on fire. Whatever they decided to do about it, they had to do it fast. It was only a matter of time before the creature decided to do something other than sit there on the ground or until someone walked in on the little stand off they were having. The last thing Dean needed was for more people to get hurt.

Dean slowly slid his hand back to his pistol, the movements so slow, in fact, that it was almost impossible to see them. The wendigo, though, seemed to have noticed, because it snapped its gaze from Daryl to him instead. Dean froze, waiting for the wendigo to act, to run at him, to try to kill him, but it did nothing. It simply sat there and watched him. Dean had to admit that it almost looked human. It still had a full head of dirty hair and the remains of clothes hung off its thin frame. If he didn't know better, Dean would have probably mistaken the wendigo for a skinny survivor.

"What the hell is it doin'?" Daryl whispered, finally breaking the silence. "Why is it just sittin' there?"

"I have no idea," Dean admitted, hating the feeling of not knowing something about a creature that he had been hunting his whole life. If only Sam, or even Bobby was here. They were the smart ones. They would know what the hell was going on.

"I thought you knew about those fucks," Daryl snapped, raising his voice without realizing. Dean's eyes immediately shifted back to the wendigo to see if Daryl's sudden voice raise startled it in any way, but it seemed as peaceful as it had before. It simply sat there and watched them.

"I've never seen one act like this. Usually wedigos care only about when they get their next mean. I've never heard of one doing this," Dean replied. "Now stop being so loud. The last thing we need is for someone to come out here right now."

"Fuck," Daryl swore quietly, shifting the crossbow in his hands. The movement caught the wendigo's attention and it turned its head towards Daryl again, moving it slightly to the left. Dean couldn't help but think of a dog when it moved. "So, what the hell are we supposed ta do now? We can't just let Freak stay here."

"Freak." The word rang out and Dean looked over at Daryl to ask him why he kept saying the word, but the look on Daryl's face stopped him. Daryl's face had turned almost white and Dean realized that it wasn't him who just talked, even though it sounded exactly like him, right down to his southern twang. Dean looked back at the wendigo and saw it sitting patiently on the ground. It opened its mouth again, and saying in a perfect copy of Daryl's voice, said "Freak."

"What the fuck was tha'?" Daryl all but yelled, his face regaining its color as rage washed over him. It was obvious that he was not comfortable with the fact that something could imitate his voice perfectly. Daryl took a step towards the wendigo and raised his crossbow. "I'm gonna kill the fuckin' thing! Shoulda done it a long time ago."

"Wait!" For reasons unknown to even him, Dean surged fowards and pushed Daryl's arm to the side just as he pulled the trigger on his crossbow. The bolt missed its target, but only by a few inches, digging itself into the ground next to the wendigo instead of its head, where Daryl had originally been aiming. The wendigo jumped and scurried away from the bolt, almost tripping over itself as it got away from it.

"The hell do ya think yer doin'?" Daryl demanded, not even bothering to keep his voice down anymore. He turned his furious gaze to Dean and threw his crossbow onto the ground. He stalked towards Dean and shoved him hard. Dean stumbled backwards, barely catching himself from falling to the ground. Anger rushed through Dean and he flung himself at Daryl, pushing him back. All the years of hunting and fighting with Sam had built muscle on Dean and it was easy to shove Daryl away and almost to the ground. Daryl quickly regained himself and threw a punch aimed at Dean's face. Dean easily dodged and grabbed his arm, yanking it and causing Daryl to fall fowards onto the ground. Dean fell on top of him, pressing one knee firmly on his back and wrapped the other around his neck, pulling his head back in a submission hold that he had learned from his dad. Daryl choked out a swear and tried to move, but Dean had him pinned to well.

"If you stop struggling and promise to stop acting rash, I'll let you go. If not, I can stay like this for a long time. Your pick," Dean said, tightening his arm around Daryl's neck slightly to show him that he meant business. Daryl swore again, but managed a small nod. Dean let go of him and got to his feet, leaving a gasping Daryl on the ground. Daryl pushed himself into a sitting position and rubbed his hand on his tender throat.

"Fuck, ya know how to shut someone up," Daryl groaned, coughing. Then he looked back at the wendigo. "What the hell did Freak just do? Why'd he sound like me?"

"Freak?" Dean asked, wanting to know why he kept saying it.

"That's what I named it. Didn't know what else ta call it," Daryl said, and climbed to his feet. He stumbled to his crossbow and picked it up, then turned back to the wendigo, Freak. It had been sitting in its usual new spot and watched them fight. "What the hell are we gonna do 'bout it?"

Dean thought for a moment, then looked over at Daryl. "Hey, see how close you can get to, ah, Freak."

Daryl snapped his head back to Dean and looked at him like he had lost his mind. "Are ya crazy? Ain't no way I'm gettin' close ta that thing."

"It hadn't attacked you before, so maybe it won't again," Dean said. Daryl looked at him and thought for a moment.

"Fine, but if it attacks me, I'm gonna kill ya," Dary said with a sigh.

"Good," Dean said, sending a reasuring smile at him. Daryl huffed again and took a step towards Freak, who looked at him. Freak didn't move as Daryl slowly inched towards it. Then, Freak suddenly moved fowards, making Daryl jump and Dean immediately reached for his gun. Instead of jumping on Daryl and ripping his throat out like Dean had thought, Freak crawled towards Daryl on all fours. It stopped in front of him and reached out, gripped his leg, and held tight.

"What the hell is goin' on?" Daryl said, his voice coming out cracked. Dean could easily tell that he was on edge and maybe even a little frightened. For once, Dean had no idea what was happening, not even the slightest clue. He had never seen anything like it. It was like Daryl had made some impact on the wendigo and now it won't leave him alone. The idea made Dean uneasy, but also curious.

"It looks like it likes you," Dean said and Daryl's head moved as faster that it ever has, looking at Dean with wide eyes.

"What?" Daryl almost yelled. Freak squeezed closer to him.

"Daryl, what's going on?" someone suddenly said, making both men jump. They both looked quickly to see who had talked. Dale and Andrea were making their way towards them. Dean moved to stand in front of Daryl, hiding Freak.

"Tell Freak to hide," Dean said in a low voice, only Daryl and Freak hearing it. There was a shuffle, and then the sound of leaves rustling. Dean let out a sigh of relief as Freak hid in the trees along their camp.

"What do ya want?" Daryl demanded, stepping up to stand next to Dean.

"I was on lookout and heard the two of you yelling about something. I got Dale and we came over to see what was happening," Andrea said once the two of them joined the men.

"It ain't none of ya business what we were talkin' 'bout," Daryl snapped at them.

"We just wanted to make sure the two of you weren't fighting and making a lot of noise. It could draw some walkers to us," Dale said. Dean like the old man. He was nice and seemed to want what was the best for the group, but then again, Dean could be wrong. He has been fooled before.

"Trust me Dale, it was nothing. You don't need to worry about anything," Dean said, sending the man his best smile. Hopefully it worked and sent the two of them back to the RV.

"Where are the two of you heading? We have watch tonight so you should be sleeping," Andrea commented, staring at the weapons that the men had on them. Dean swore under his breath at their stupidity. Of course one of them would notice their weapons and start sticking their nose in it.

"We aren't going anywhere except back to our tents, isn't that right Daryl?" Dean said, facing Daryl, who stiffly nodded. "Well, have a good night you two."

Dean spun on his heels and started back to his tent. He heard Daryl follow him and when he looked back, he saw Dale and Andrea walking away, but they kept turning to look over their shoulders. Dean met Andrea's eyes and he held them until she looked away first. Once the two of them had disappeared into the darkness and back to the RV, Freak was suddenly on the ground, crouched between Dean and Daryl. It looked up at Dean, then Daryl, then to where Andrea and Dale had gone. Its tongue slipped from its mouth and flicked over its dry lips. Dean saw the movement, as did Daryl.

"Hey," Daryl said, making Freak jump and look up at him. "If yer gonna stay here, yer gonna need ta know the rules. Rule one: No eatin' or attackin' anyone in the camp. Rule two: Don't fuckin' show yerself to any of them. Explaining what the hell ya are will be way to hard. Rule three: Don't bring any of whatever the hell ya eat into camp. I really don't need ta see it. That clear?"

Dean didn't expect Freak to understand. Afterall, wendigos lose almost all of what makes them human when they turn, even their ability to understand. The only things that remain are their intelligence, which they only use to get their next meal. Actually, Dean concluded, wendigos are pretty much smart Croats. Dean looked down at Freak to see what it would do. To his surprise, Freak nodded, agreeing to the terms that Daryl had set. Accepting its answer, Daryl turned to his tent and disappeared into it, zipping it up and leaving Dean outside with Freak. Both of them stared at where Daryl had gone in silence.

"He isn't a very friendly person, is he?" Dean said to the wendigo without realizing. Freak made a grunting sound, which sounded like a _Yes_ to Dean, who let out a short laugh. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'm going to sleep too. Today had been way to busy for me. God, what I would give for an ice cold beer right now and someone I know to talk to."

Dean had mumbled the last part as he ducked into his tent, leaving only Freak outside. Dean didn't bother to turn on his lantern as he shed his shirt and slipped under his sleeping bag. Outside, he heard Freak move and finally heard it settle down between both their tents. Dean shut his eyes.

XxXxXxX

_"Cas, why the hell can't you have any of your angel mojo right now?" Dean groaned from his spot around the fire. Cas glared at him from the other side of it._

_"You know perfectly well why I don't have any of my 'angel mojo'. Please stop complaining now," Cas said, his voice monotone. Dean rolled his eyes and let out another loud groan. He was using his uncanny ability to annoy Cas as a distracting, but now his mind moved to what he was truelly worrying about._

_Sam should be back by now. It doesn't take hours to go hunting for something. Dean knew he should have went with him. If only he hadn't listented to Sam and Cas. Sam needed Dean and if he was killed out there because Dean wasn't there to protect him, Dean knew he would beat himself up over it for the rest of his life. He's lost too many people already and he wasn't going to lose his brother for good._

_Dean nervously scratched at his right arm, the spot right below the inside of is elbow._

_A noise got the attention of both Dean and Cas, who quickly reached for their weapons. Dean jumped to his feet, his pistol aimed to the only way into the small room they had found to camp for the night. Both of them waited with bated breath for whatever had gotten into the building to walk through the door. When a figure finally appeared, Dean let out the air he hadn't realized he was holding and dropped his gun and ran to the person. Sam tensed when Dean threw his arms around him and hugged him close._

_"Yeah Dean, it's me. I'm still alive," Sam said, pushing his brother off of himself and walked over to the fire, where he dropped the couple of rabbits that he had managed to catch. He looked up at Cas. "Hey Cas. Did Dean bother you too much?"_

_"Next time I'm going to go hunting. Dean would not stop bothering me," Cas said, dropping back to the ground on his blankets. He reached for a rabbit and pulled out his knife, beginning to skin the rodent._

_"You scared the hell out of me, Sam! Do you know that?" Dean demanded, dropping back in his spot and tried to calm his racing heart. "You left hours ago and I thought something had happened to you."_

_"Well, I'm fine Dean. Just ran into some trouble, but I took care of it," Sam said, sitting on his previously made bed next to the fire, between Dean and Cas. He shrugged off his backpack and handed it over to Dean. "Hopefully this makes up for what I put you through."_

_Dean eagerly grabbed for the bag and unzipped it. What he was inside made him believe that miracels were true. He yanked out a bottle of beet and opened it, eager to take a swig. The liquid was warm and didn't tast as good as it would have cold, but Dean didn't care. Beer was beer and he had missed beer._

_"Shit Sammy, this is amazing!" Dean exclaimed, pulling out another beer and threw it at Sam, who caught it. Dean also tossed one over the fire at Cas, who caught it without looking up from the next rabbit that he was preparing for the fire. Dean held his beer up over the small fire. "Come everybody, let's toast."_

_"What do we have to toast for?" Sam asked, taking a short swig from his beer._

_Dean thought for a moment before a smile spread acrossed his face. "Well, how about we toast to the fact that the three of us have survived this long and will for the rest of this shit."_

_Sam shrugged and held his bottle next to Dean's, hitting it with a small clink. Both brothers looked over at Cas, who was skinning the last rabbit, pretending that he wasn't listening. When he finally looked up, he found both the Winchesters staring at him with similar goofy grins on their faces. Cas finally rolled his eyes and put the rabbit to the side, opened his beer and held it up to the other two._

_"To us, and our lucky ability to not remain dead when someone kills us," Dean said and the glasses clinked loudly together. They all pulled away and took a swig from their beers at the same time. Dean's smile widened._

XxXxXxX

Dean slowly opened his eyes and found himself staring at the roof of his tent. For once he hadn't wanted to wake up from a dream and he could only wish he could fall asleep and live in that dream for the rest of his life. And he wished he had a beer. Slowly, Dean sat up and crawled from his sleeping bag. Finding one of his shirts, Dean slipped it on and left the tent, but not before he made sure he had his knife and pistol.

The sun blinded the Winchester temporarily. Dean rubbed his eyes and looked over to see the flap of Daryl's tent slighlty unzipped. A quick peek inside showed that the man was already awake and somewhere. Dean slipped on his boots that he had left outside his tent and made his way into the camp. Everyone else was awake and moving around the camp, doing something. Dean saw a woman with short hair next to a small fire, serving up food to some of the others. Dean headed towards her.

"Good morning, Dean," the woman said and held out a bowl of food. Dean's stomach growled and thankfully took the bowl from the woman, not bothering to check what was inside of it before he started to shovel it into his mouth. "I'm Carol, by the way. It's nice to meet you."

"You too. Thanks for the food," Dean said once he finished the food. He handed the bowl back to Carol and looked around the camp once more. He noticed some of the men crowded around a tuck, looking at something that was spread out on its hood. "Hey, what are they doing?"

"Oh, them?" Carol asked and Dean nodded. "They're seeing where they're going to look for my little girl, Sophia, next."

"The lost girl is yours?" Dean asked, looking at Carol in surprise.

"Yes, she is," the woman said, and Dean heard how her voice suddenly changed. He felt bad for the woman. It was obvious that she didn't know what to do and Dean knew she would break if she found out her girl was dead, which she probably was by now.

"I know how you feel," Dean said finally. Carol looked up at him.

"You've lost a child?" Carol said, but Dean could hear the doubt in her voice. Dean's mind went to Ben, but he quickly dismissed it. Sure, he still cared for the kid, but he promised himself that he wasn' t going to think about his kid ever again.

"Well, no," Dean began, but Carol cut him off.

"Then you don't know how I feel," she said, looking away from Dean.

"I had to worry about my dad almost all my life," Dean said, turning to look up at the blue sky. He was Carol look back at him from the corner of his eyes. "Sure, it isn't a kid that I was worrying about, but he was still family. Almost everyday growing up, my dad would leave Sammy and I at a motel room so he could go the family business. The work was far from safe and he could have gotten killed at anytime and I wouldn't know. Once he vanished and didn't tell me where he was, so I picked my brother up from collage and we went of a road trip to find him. So yeah, I do know how you feel."

Carol was silent for a moment, then quietly said, "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Dean said, reaching out and setting a hand on the woman's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze before he walked away. Dean headed towards the truck and pushed his way between Glenn and Rick so he could see the map. He looked up and smirked when his eyes met the furious Shane's. "So, what can I help with?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, I'm back! I bet you weren't expecting to hear from me again, but here I am. I am truly sorry that it took me so long to update, trust me when I say that I had no intention of doing so. When I started this, I was in the middle of high school and shit just hit me like a truck and everything started to spiral downwards from there. I lost all my motivation to do anything, especially write. But I've since graduated from high school and now just finished my first semester of college. I've been feeling much better and have motivation now to write again. Thank you all for reading and expect a lot more from me now.

Air escaped Daryl's nostrils in a long snort. Sure, he was more than happy to hear that he was well enough to go out and begin looking for Sophia again, but he did not fucking want to go look for her with Rick, Shane, and Dean. Dean was fine, at least he knew how to be quiet in the woods but the other two stomped around like a couple of fucking elephants. It was a wonder that they didn't draw the attention of walkers whenever they went into the woods.

It hadn't been his idea to go out with them, not his idea at all. In fact, Daryl had tried to leave before them, but it didn't work. Hershel said that he and Dean were still injured and they couldn't go out alone. So, instead of it just being them, Shane and Rick decided to come with them. And that wasn't even the part that made Daryl uneasy. It was the fact that Shane was the one who volunteered him and Rick to go out with them. Daryl knew that Shane hated him and hated Dean just as much.

"So," Dean said, breaking the hour long silence that had started as soon as they had left the farm. Dean was walking next to Daryl and behind Rick and Shane, which was probably the safest place for him. Daryl could only guess what Shane would do to Dean if they got too close to each other. "How long ago did you lose the girl?"

"It's been a couple of weeks. We were on the highway not far from here when a horde of walkers came and a couple of them chased Sophia into the woods," Rick answered, looking over his shoulder at the two men behind him. "It wasn't long after that when my son got shot and we found Hershel. We're all grateful that he was willing to let us stay at his farm while he look for her."

Dean nodded, but said no more. Instead he looked off into the trees to the left of him. Daryl followed his gaze and saw a glimpse of Freak as he ducked from tree to tree beneath the shadows. The wendigo had followed them out on their search, no surprise, and was keeping hid pretty well. Shane hadn't even noticed it yet.

"What about you? Are you alone or did you get separated from the rest of your group?" Rick asked when he was sure Dean wasn't going to say anymore.

Daryl saw Dean's expression turn sour. Without taking his eyes off of the trees, he said, "When this shit started, I had my brother and best friend. Let's just say that they didn't make it."

Rick kept is mouth shut, and thankfully so did Shane. Daryl did notice, though, that his grip on rifle tightened. A sinking feeling fell in Daryl's stomach and he had a hunch that something not good was going to happen. Silence remained over the group as they continued further in their search. The early morning sun shone bright down on them and Daryl shifted his crossbow on his back. If he carried it for too long his arms get tired and it's harder for him to aim, so when he knew that he wasn't going to be using it, he kept it on his shoulder. If need be and a walker got the jump on him, he always had his knife strapped to his hip, but he kept that even closer. Daryl didn't know who would help him if he got attacked.

* * *

 

 Daryl lost track of how long they were walked, but it had to be at least a few hours. They had searched every place that a little girl could have hid in their walk, but found nothing. Freak had disappeared long ago, probably to get something to eat or to sleep. Dean did tell him that wendigos generally liked the night more. Whatever the reason, though, it was fine by Daryl. The last thing he needed was for that thing to get itself seen. Next to him, Dean had shed his leather jacket and draped in over one of his shoulders, leaving him in his jeans and a short sleeve shirt. When Daryl had looked over at him, the bandages on Dean's right arm caught him by surprise. How the hell hadn't he noticed them before.

"Everyone, stop," Dean suddenly said, slowing to a stop. Daryl jerked back to reality and looked up to see Rick and Shane had stopped also. Shane didn't look very happy.

"Why the hell are we stopping? We need to keep going," Shane snapped, turning to face the Winchester fully, but the man was ignoring him. Dean had his head cocked to the side and it looked like he was listening for something. It reminded Daryl of a dog he had when he was little.

"Shit," Dean suddenly said and reached out to grab Daryl. Adrenaline shot through Daryl because of the sudden touch, but before he could do anything Dean had pulled him off their path and into rather thick brush nearby. Dean looked back at the other two men. "Well, are you coming? Or else I'm happy to leave you there for those people coming our way to find."

Rick moved first, quickly getting off the path and jumping into the brush next to the other two. Shane remained on the road for a moment more, seemingly debating what to do. Daryl silently prayed that he would stay on the road and the people Dean had somehow known about would find him, but the hope was crushed when Shane found his way into the brush along with them, but as far from him and Dean as possible. Now that it was silent again, Daryl concentrated on finding what Dean had heard. Sure enough, it didn't take him long to hear it. Voices echoed off the trees, getting louder as the owners got closer to them. Daryl held his breath when the people finally appeared.

"Why the hell are we even fucking here? Let's just go back to Crowley and tell him that we didn't find the other brother. He'd let us back into Hell, right?" one of the people asked. Daryl did a quick once over on the man. He was tall and skinny, with hallow cheeks and a head of stringy blond hair. Moving his eyes away from the young man, Daryl studied the rest of the group. There were probably about six of them, including the man who had talked. None of them looked like they belonged in a group together. Standing next to the dirty man was a plump woman in what looked like slightly dirty clothes that a housewife would wear. In front of the two of them were two more men, one large and muscular, the other small and nearly as skinny as the first and whose glasses were sitting precariously on the tip of his nose. Then finally, at the head of the group, was a woman who looked like she could have been a movie star and a big man with a shaved head and clad in military clothing. The fact that none of them looked like they should get along with anyone else wasn't the part of the group that made Daryl wary of them. It was the fact that none of them looked like they possessed any weapons except for the gun on the hip of Military Man and, which was even more disturbing than their lack of weapons, was the bite marks dotting their arms.

"You're even more stupid that I thought, Mac," the housewife scolded, punching the skinny man, Mac, and making him stumble to the side. Daryl was honestly surprised at the strength of the small woman. "If we go back and tell Crowley that we don't have the Winchester he'll kill us! Now stop complaining so we can finish this. I would rather be back in Hell that in this horrid place with those things wandering around. I've had enought of being chomped on."

"Would you two just stop. You're giving me a headache," the movie star woman snapped back at them. She crossed her arms over her rather large bosom and sighed. Daryl was so concentrated on the group of people that when the brush rustled in made him jump. He snapped his head around and saw Shane leaning far away from the brush they were hiding behind, a sheepish look on his face. He had leaned too close and almost fell into the brush. Daryl felt like he could punch the man in the face.

"What was that?" the boy with the glasses said, stopping immediately. Daryl slowly turned to see everyone in the group had stopped and were now looking around for the source of the noise. Daryl saw a movement from the corner of his eye and watched Dean as he slowly moved his hand to the knife clasped to his hip.

"It was probably just some of those things. What did those people call them? Chewers? Yeah, that was it. It was probably just a couple chewers," Mac said, clapping his hands together like he had just done something amazing.

"He's probably right. If they're chewers, let's just go. It wouldn't be worth it to waste our bullets on them. Come on," Movie Star Woman said, grabbing Military Man by his arm and dragging him forwards. He still had his eyes trailed on where Daryl and the others were hiding, but finally looked away when he got too far away. Daryl waited with baited breath until he could no longer see the people and then five minutes after that. Once he was sure that they were long gone, Daryl shot to his feet and grabbed Shane by the shirt.

"What the hell was that? Ya coulda got us found, ya dumbass," Daryl growled at the man, who glared back at him. Shane wrestled his shirt out of Daryl's grasp and took a couple of steps back, fixing his shirt in the process.

"Don't be pissed at me, hick. Blame your little boy friend there. He was the one that they were after," Shane growled back, matching Daryl's fury. Daryl's saw red and before he knew it, his fist had connected with Shane's face and sent him to the ground.

"He ain't my fuckin' boyfriend, fucker," Daryl hissed at the man on the ground. Rick had fallen next to Shane and helped his friend up into a sitting position, where he glared at Daryl as he covered his bleeding nose with his hand.

"Hey now everybody, just calm down," Rick said, trying to diffuse the situation. "No one's to blame, so just cool down. Dean, I'm sure you don't want me to ask, but I need to for the safety of my people. Did you know those people?"

"Well," Dean said, thinking for a minute. Daryl watched him and waited for an answer as he tried to calm himself down. "I don't know those people personally, but I know the person they're, well, I guess you could say the person they're working for. We go way back."

"Why does he want you?" Daryl questioned. He knew he trusted the man, but he needed to be sure that having his presence around wouldn't cause any harm to him or render his search for Carol's girl at all.

"We had a bit of a falling out and I sorta took something from him the last time we saw each other and he apparently didn't like that," Dean confessed. When he saw the others staring at him, he quickly raised his hands up in defense. "Hey, in my defense it belonged to first. Someone gave it to me and then he took it. So technically I just took back what was mine."

"And what exactly was that?" Rick asked as he helped Shane to his feet.

"That's none of your business, but I promise you that it's not dangerous or anything. And the people looking for me won't find me," Dean said.

"How do you know? They look like they're pretty damn close already," Shane demanded, his voice muffled. His nose had finally stopped bleeding, but his lower face and shit were covered in blood and he was making no move to wipe in away.

"Because they can't. The only way they'll find me is if I want them to find me. My friend made sure of that," Dean said and Daryl was slightly curious about the friend he had just mentioned. How could someone make sure of something like that? Did they work for the government or something before the world went to shit?

"Let's just get back to the farm. It's getting late and I don't want to be out here when the sun sets. We'll talk more about this when we get back," Rick said and walked back onto the path. Dean followed him, and Daryl slowly pushed his way through the brush, leaving Shane by himself. When Shane did finally join them, they headed back to the farm. They hadn't gotten even five minutes into the walk back when they heard a scream.

"What the hell was that?" Shane asked, looking around for anything that may have been attracted to the sound. No one answered, but Dean took off running towards the sound. Daryl rolled his eyes and ran after him, mildly surprised at how fast the injured man could run. Eventually, Daryl saw Dean suddenly come to a halt in the middle of the path in front of him. It wasn't long after that when he smelled the blood. Daryl came to a stop next to Dean and looked down at the scene in front of him.

Blood was everywhere: on the ground and surrounding trees, painting it red. Organs that Daryl couldn't even name dotted the red landscape, some in better condition than others. A piece of intestine hung from a tree brand above them. One of the bodies was on its back with its stomach and chest tore open. Organs sprawled from the opening and white bones peeked out. The other body was in even worse shape. Both legs and arm was missing while the other arm was shed of any skin. The remains of the body lay on its stomach, its back tore open. It was obvious that whatever had done this had fallen onto the man's back and broke off a section of its back so it could tear his organs out from behind. Daryl groped for his rag and held it against his face as he took a step closer to examine the bodies. The one on his back was Mac while the other looked to be the muscle man from the group that had just passed them.

"What the hell happened?" Rick asked, out of breath from running. Daryl turned and saw the man staring at what was in front of him while Shane finally caught up to them, breathing heavily through his mouth.

"They're from the group that just passed up. Whatever had done this isn't too far away and there's no sign of the other people from the group," Daryl said, stepping away from the bodies. "Let's keeping going."

Rick nodded and he and Shane slowly picked their way through the carnage to get to where Daryl stood at the other side. Dean, though, stayed where he was, unmoving. He simply stared down at the bodies as if he knew something that the rest of them hadn't. Daryl got an uneasy feeling.

"Dean, ya comin' or not?" Daryl finally called out, making Dean jump.

"Uh, yeah, yeah, sorry," Dean said, rolling his shoulders and bringing one arm up to rub the bandages on his right arm for a short moments. He skillfully stepped his way around the remains of the bodies and joined the other three on the other side.

Daryl still didn't like the way Dean was acting, but he couldn't do anything. As long as the man didn't go totally crazy, Daryl had no problem with him. The walk back to the farm was faster, the men picking their pace up drastically. It was also silent, not one of them daring to start a conversation, instead using their concentration to listen and study the trees around them. By the time they got back to the farm, the sun had fallen and the moon was high in the sky.

"Dean, Daryl, gather everyone around the fire. We need to tell them about what happened out in the woods," Rick ordered. "Shane, you're with me. We're going to go get the Greenes."

It hadn't taken long to round everyone up and get them to the fire, which someone had started again. Tired faces and sleepy eyes stared at each other around the fire, confused as to why they were woken up in the middle of the night. Their confusion was quickly gone as soon as Rick started to tell them what had happened out in the woods. Daryl watched everyone's faces carefully and when Rick was done, he saw a mixture of emotion: fear, confusion, concern.

"Dean, are you positive that these people won't find you? I will not let you put my family in danger just because you stole something from someone," Lori asked, wrapping an arm around Carl. Daryl felt kind of bad for the kid who was forced against his mother in a death grip and couldn't get away.

"Yeah, I'm sure. I promise," Dean said, smiling to reassure the people around the fire, but Daryl didn't buy it. "And if they do somehow find me, I promise that I'll get rid of them."

The group of people were silent before Rick finally said, "Alright, let's all get to sleep. Who's turn is it to stand guard?"

Dean and Daryl slipped away from the others and headed to their own little camp. Daryl watched Dean closely. Before Dean entered his tent, Daryl asked, "Ya lied back there. Ya said that ta calm 'em all down. Yer afraid that those people will find ya. Ya don't know if you'll be able ta protect us from the either, do ya?"

Dean was silent, but Daryl saw his shoulders hunch up and his head bow. Then, finally, in a small voice, Dean said, "No, I don't."


End file.
